Dead Man Walking
by cywscross
Summary: Kreacher goes back to save his master, and Regulus survives but his near-death-by-Inferi puts him into a coma for the next sixteen years. When he wakes, well, the world is not so different. Voldemort is still at large, and the Ministry is still inept. His brother's got a godson now though, so it's only natural for Regulus to keep an eye on young Harry as well.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter.**

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**General Warnings:** AU, language, violence, not dead!Regulus, Harry-gets-a-secret-second-godfather... sort-of

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**Summary:** Kreacher goes back to save his master, and Regulus survives but his near-death-by-Inferi puts him into a coma for the next sixteen years. When he wakes, well, the world is not so different. Voldemort is still at large, and the Ministry is still inept. His brother's got a godson now though, so it's only natural for Regulus to keep an eye on young Harry as well.

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**Author's Notes:** This is the last new fic I'll start at least until after the New Year, I promiseXD But I also probably won't be able to update again for at least a few weeks so enjoy this in the meantime.

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**Chapter 1**

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**I.**

_Cold hands wrap around his limbs and torso and throat. Skeletal fingers tangle in his hair, rotting teeth tear at his flesh, and the animated corpses around him drag him down, down, down into the icy depths of the lake. Water fills his lungs, darkness numbs his mind, he can no longer breathe, and death, death is a blessing, and he begs it to come for him now..._

"-lus! Master Regulus! Please wake up! It is just another night terror! Master Regulus!"

Regulus jolted awake, sucking in greedy gulps of air as he shot up and stared around wildly, already shivering even with the tangle of blankets twisted around his legs and the sweat matting his hair to his forehead. He half-expected himself to still be in that cave, terribly thirsty and frightened out of his mind as the Inferi got a hold of him.

Slowly however, his mind began to clear, his breathing evened out, and his gaze fell to the anxious-looking house-elf standing by his bed, hands twisting his ears agitatedly as he hovered worriedly at Regulus' side.

Despite the horrible memories still plaguing him every time he so much as blinked, Regulus managed a half-smile that he hoped was at least a little reassuring. Kreacher didn't look all that reassured.

"I'm fine, Kreacher," Regulus said out loud, voice still hoarse and rusty from the sixteen-year-long coma he had been in. "Thank you for waking me."

Kreacher brightened a little, snapping his fingers to instantly exchange Regulus' bedding with new sheets. Regulus noticed that there were a few extra blankets, and he was inwardly grateful at his house-elf's foresight. He was _still_ shivering from an invisible chill.

"Master Regulus is most welcome," Kreacher croaked. "Since Master is awake, would he like some breakfast now?"

Regulus hesitated, and then nodded reluctantly when Kreacher's worried frown became even more pronounced. The house-elf lit up again and promptly disappeared with a crack, off to make a meal fit for a king.

Truth be told, Regulus barely had any appetite these days but after the first month of having Kreacher bring him nutrition potions and other necessities to at least get Regulus _back on his feet_, the house-elf had insisted on at least two meals a day if not three.

Truly, Kreacher could fuss worse than Madam Pomfrey.

With a shaky sigh, Regulus lay back down and curled up again, wrapping himself in the blankets as tightly as possible. He felt like a child despite already being thirty-four years old. And with sixteen years in a Merlin-damned coma...

He'd only been eighteen when he had very nearly died.

He _would've_ died if Kreacher hadn't circumvented his orders and come back for him. Regulus had only told Kreacher to leave with the locket and destroy it but he hadn't told the house-elf not to come back to grab Regulus as well.

It was actually pretty stupid of him not to simply order Kreacher to Apparate both of them out of there but he'd blame that Drink of Despair for his brain not working at full capacity at the time.

It had cost him sixteen years of his life too, sixteen years of being stuck in nothing but darkness and fear and cold, cold hands holding him under, unable to wake up, though he supposed that was marginally better than twelve years in Azkaban.

When Regulus had woken up three months ago (and had finally been lucid enough to _stay_ awake for more than a few seconds, much to Kreacher's teary-eyed delight), he had gotten the house-elf to tell him everything there was to know about what had happened after he had fallen into a coma.

Voldemort's temporary demise had come as a bit of a surprise; Voldemort's return a mere few weeks ago – not so much.

And of course, Sirius being a reckless idiot and charging headlong after Pettigrew for revenge only to get himself framed and thrown in jail for the next twelve years – Regulus could definitely say that that came as no surprise whatsoever. His brother had always been the action-first-thinking-later-if-ever sort of man, especially when his temper was running high.

A stab of guilt hammered in his chest. Perhaps... Perhaps things would've been different if he had gone to Sirius when Regulus had first started seeing Pettigrew show up at Death Eater meetings. Or an anonymous note at the very least; Sirius had – and most likely still – hated him after all, and accusing one of his brother's fellow Marauders of being a Death Eater to his face probably wouldn't have gone over well, especially since Regulus had been a Death Eater by then too.

He shook his head. The past was the past; there was no use thinking about what-ifs anymore.

The present didn't make for much better food for thought though. Regulus had woken up in the middle of April to a mutinous Kreacher (who had cried in happiness when he had seen Regulus open his eyes at last). A few days later, when Regulus had been strong enough to listen even though he had still been laid out on his back, the house-elf had reported that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had been overrun by mudbloods and blood traitors alike, namely the Order of the Phoenix. Luckily, Kreacher had been secretly taking care of Regulus for years without letting anyone know, smart enough to figure out that Regulus had betrayed the Dark Lord by stealing the locket, and hadn't wanted Regulus' parents – or anyone else for that matter – to find out.

Even more fortunate was the fact that Kreacher had barricaded the rooms in which Regulus now lived in to the point where no one but a direct order from a Black would be able to make Kreacher open up the doors for them. Sirius had almost always despised their childhood home, and had never had any interest in exploring it, claiming that the artifacts hidden inside were too Dark for his tastes. Regulus wasn't worried that his brother might stumble upon one of the numerous hidden rooms in the house. The only people who might know more about Grimmauld Place than him were all dead.

That aside, Regulus had also heard the mention of a prophecy regarding the Boy-Who-Lived who, of course, just had to be Potter and Evans' son.

Meaning, _of course_, that they had made Sirius Black godfather.

On one hand, it was nothing less than what Regulus had expected the moment Kreacher had revealed to him all the things that the house-elf had overheard in the meetings (which was another oversight on the Order of the Fried Chicken's part; honestly, orders like 'stay in the house' and 'if you have to talk at all, talk of nothing you hear with anyone outside Grimmauld Place' were both careless and plain stupid, especially when Regulus was also a Black from the main line and could countermand Sirius' orders perfectly fine). After all, James Potter's most trusted had always been Regulus' brother so it would stand to reason that Sirius would've been chosen as godfather.

But on the other hand, well, Sirius had never been what you would call the epitome of rational thinking. Revenge on Pettigrew had evidently been too much to resist, and Sirius had chosen that over taking care of his godson.

A godson who was staying with _Muggles_ now, according to Kreacher, and _the worst sort of Muggles_ at that, if the various Order members' complaints about the Dursleys could be believed. And apparently, the kid had only been back at these Dursleys' place for _a week_. If it was so obvious that those Muggles were unsuitable guardians, why couldn't they just move the boy someplace else? Sirius at least should know better. Blood wards or no, Regulus could already think of half a dozen ways off the top of his head to match the strength of those wards with something found in the Black library. Not to mention there was the Fidelius Charm; just because it had failed once because they had trusted a rat didn't mean it would fail again. Heck, Grimmauld Place was under the Fidelius right now, and Regulus hadn't heard of any Death Eaters breaking down the front door.

Sirius himself could be the real Secret Keeper this time around, whisk the boy off somewhere for the summer – perhaps Potter Manor – where he would actually enjoy himself, and the Dark Lord would never be able to get Harry Potter's location; if nothing else, Sirius was fanatically loyal to the people he cared about.

But while Regulus had become disillusioned with the Dark Lord's side, he also maintained the fact that the Light had never had much of a foothold in the intelligence department. Clearly, they were about as slow as Regulus remembered them to be.

That, or they were even bigger Dumbledore groupies than they had been during the last war. Truthfully, Regulus figured it was a bit of both.

"Your lunch, Master Regulus."

Regulus levered himself upright, offering a slight smile for Kreacher as the elf handed him a tray filled to the brim with hot stew, a side of soft bread, and treacle tarts which had always been Regulus' favourite. At the moment, he still couldn't eat anything heavier than this.

"Thank you, Kreacher," He rasped out, picking up the spoon.

Kreacher beamed, drooping ears perking a bit. "Master Regulus be needing anything else?"

"Not right now, Kreacher," Regulus paused. "Actually, could you get together some clothes for me? A... _Muggle_ attire, if you please. I need to blend in with the Muggle world."

He mentally wrinkled his nose. He was indifferent to Muggleborns and half-bloods – the bloody _Dark Lord_ was a half-blood, as Regulus had managed to discover, along with the slew of Horcruxes that the man had made – but Muggles were... well, he was still a little iffy about them but he could hold his distaste at bay.

"Master Regulus plans to go out?" Kreacher enquired with some concern.

Regulus nodded. "Don't worry; I'm not planning on doing anything strenuous. My idiot brother is on house arrest though, and _in his own house_ at that; does he have no pride? Anyway, since he's locked up here, I thought I'd drop by to see that godson of his that he's been rambling on about."

Kreacher took on a grouchy look. "The Potter boy is a half-blood, Master."

"In the end, blood status doesn't truly mean anything, Kreacher," Regulus sighed. "We all bleed and hurt and die the same way. Besides, the boy is Sirius' godson, which means I have an obligation to keep an eye on him too. I owe Sirius that much."

Kreacher huffed but let the issue go easily enough. "Kreacher will go retrieve disgusting Muggle clothing. And Kreacher will have hot bath ready for Master Regulus to wash any Muggle filth away when he returns."

Regulus smiled somewhat dryly this time as the house-elf popped away. He returned to his soup, wrapping one hand around the side of the bowl to try and steal some of the warmth into his own body.

He wondered if the chill in his bones would ever go away.

He rather doubted it.

**II.**

As he trudged down a street in Little Whinging, Regulus burrowed deeper into the warm coat that Kreacher had managed to find for him. It was fortunate that Regulus had always been frugal with the generous allowance that his parents had given him each month (_"A Black should never be seen as anything less than perfect, Regulus."_), never using more than absolutely necessary. Unbeknownst to his family, before he had semi-died, Regulus had also secretly opened a second vault on the side, and had moved most of his money into it just in case the Dark Lord had ever ordered any Death Eaters to give up even more gold to the madman's cause. Regulus was a lot of things, and Slytherin was at the very top. He had had contingency plans for contingency plans, with one scenario being disownment from his family like Sirius had been. Unlike his brother, Regulus had had no friends who would've taken him in for free should he ever do anything to truly displease Walburga Black, nor had he had any relatives who had liked him enough to leave him money, and if Regulus had ever ended up on the streets, he had had no desire to be a pauper or a beggar.

The private vault he had opened contained enough money for him to live out the rest of his life in comfort if not luxury, and that was good enough for him.

Kreacher had also managed to save his wand, bless the elf's crooked heart, and while Regulus would never be as brilliant – or flashy – a duelist as Sirius was, his strengths laid in spellwork and research. He was a decent fighter but he preferred using his head to get out of dangerous situations, and there were enchantments and wards that he had both discovered and created that he was certain even Voldemort wouldn't know of.

Right now though, he had simply cast a powerful glamour on himself, and he had become a nondescript brown-haired, grey-eyed man in his thirties. His natural black hair, reaching past his shoulders and tied back in a ponytail, now looked shortly cropped to everyone else.

He paused when he reached a park, eyebrow arching. Oh, it looked like he didn't even have to go all the way to Privet Drive to visit Sirius' godson (would that make the kid Regulus' 'godnephew'?).

Casually turning into open space, his eyes scanned the grass, easily picking up the two indents that gave away the invisible person standing there.

_Honestly_.

Well, at least he had double insurance that it wasn't Moody under that cloak because the ex-Auror would never be this sloppy. Of course, Kreacher had already given him the full schedule of the Order's rotation duty when on Potter-watch so he knew it was his little cousin Nymphadora Tonks under that cloak.

Not so little anymore though, and he had only ever seen her once from afar a long time ago when she had been a toddler. Andy would've freaked if he had ever approached her daughter in any way.

Without letting his gaze stray to the Order member (no doubt studying him closely now from under her invisibility cloak), Regulus chose a bench at the edge of the park to sit on, a dozen feet away from the swing where Harry Potter was brooding morosely from.

Regulus unfolded the Muggle newspaper that he had brought along, raising it to cover his face just so he could grimace openly at the boy's lack of awareness. Regulus could've killed the kid three times over by now before Nymphadora could've done anything, and that was not accounting the fact that he also could've thrown a successful Stunner at her already what with her giving herself away in broad daylight.

He crossed his legs and leaned back so he could survey Harry over the top of his paper without making it noticeable. Still brooding. Well, the kid _had _gone through quite a few hardships, plus he was a teenager.

The clothes he was wearing were atrocious though. Even Regulus drew the line at wearing anything less than top-of-the-line Muggle clothing despite his jeans, shirt, and sweater being more casual apparel than formal.

The boy's clothes were at least three sizes too big on him though, not to mention those glasses didn't match his face at all. In Regulus' opinion, the kid should just correct his eyesight with a potion; why James Potter had never done it was beyond him. The Gryffindor had certainly been rich enough.

The Potter hair was a lost cause but growing it out a little might help it change from a birds' nest to – as Sirius would put it – I-had-great-sex-last-night-and-you-missed-out. The boy was almost fifteen, wasn't he? Sirius had been 'experimenting' since he had hit third year back at school, much to their mother's displeasure.

"Hey, there's your freak of a cousin, Big D!"

Regulus flicked his gaze to the group of boys – sneering faces, superior smirks; they reminded him a little of the Marauders before Evans had finally managed to make them grow up a bit – approaching his brother's godson. Harry straightened and got to his feet, defiant as a Gryffindor as he watched the group of teens saunter over.

Out of the four, Regulus noticed that only the biggest kid looked slightly nervous.

"What do you want, Duddykins?"

Regulus discreetly rolled his eyes at the goading, scornful tone. Did the boy have no self-preservation? No wonder he was a Gryffindor.

"Ooh, Potty sounds like he's grown a spine since last year," One of the newcomers jeered, stepping forward and puffing himself up in an attempt to look intimidating.

Regulus mentally snorted.

"Big D's been telling us about your little nightmares," The boy continued, and Harry stiffened. "And calling for your mummy and daddy too! 'Help me, Mummy, help me!' But oh wait; you're an _orphan_!"

"_Shut up_," Harry snarled, right hand twitching, and Regulus knew the boy yearned to go for his wand. The biggest boy – 'Big D' probably – shifted uneasily. Ah, that must be the cousin.

"Or what?" Another boy stepped in, rat-faced and scrawny. "You'll scream for mummy to save you?"

Raucous laughter filled the air, Harry turned even whiter, and Regulus had had enough.

Harry Potter was the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter's last scion and heir. It was degrading enough to know that his own brother, head of the Black House, was being ordered about in his own ancestral home, and by that banshee woman to boot; it was even worse to see someone related to the Blacks – Dorea Potter née Black had been Regulus' great-aunt – letting a couple of vulgar Muggles put him down without at least verbally flaying them in return.

He had crossed over to the swing set in five long strides, ignoring the rustle of an invisibility cloak as Nymphadora took a few steps forward. Regulus understood the need for secrecy but that didn't make him any less annoyed that the people supposedly guarding the boy wasn't protecting him from emotional abuse.

"Excuse me, is there a problem here?" Regulus interrupted smoothly despite the scratchy quality in his voice. He came to a stop behind the group of bullies.

The teens all whirled around, looking shifty-eyed when they saw that it was an adult, but they relaxed when they realized that Regulus was alone.

Behind them, Harry looked surprised, anger and not-quite-hidden hurt dimming gradually as a slightly worried frown replaced it.

"There's no problem," This time, it was 'Big D' who spoke with an ugly sneer. "Leave if you know what's good for you."

The boy even had the gall to crack his knuckles in what Regulus assumed was supposed to be a threatening manner.

Regulus arched an eyebrow, staring coolly at the bulky teen until the kid began to squirm a little, bravado faltering.

"I think it's time for you boys to go home," Regulus phrased it politely but there was no mistaking the undertone of steel in his voice. Never let it be said he hadn't learned anything under his mother's harsh tutelage on the regal bearing of a Black.

"You think you can order us around-" The boy who had first ridiculed Harry started to move towards him.

Regulus only pinned the kid with a cold flat look and cut him off. "Yes, I do, now move along, boy."

Regulus knew their kind, knew that they were all talk and only picked on the weak. Regulus, while not in top form, hadn't been a Death Eater for nothing. He had killed before, and perhaps some of that showed in his expression because the uneasiness amongst the teens spread.

However, they weren't quite ready to give up just yet; the mouthy brat from before reached out and attempted to shove Regulus back.

Needless to say, Regulus didn't let him, and just before the Muggle boy's fingers touched his coat, he clamped a hand around the thick wrist and twisted deftly until the brat's face crumpled in pain.

Not yet broken but close enough.

"I said," Regulus repeated, still very quiet but in a voice that could freeze lava. "_Move along_."

He held on for a second longer before letting go, and the teens fled.

Regulus inwardly scoffed derisively. _Muggles_. They were even worse than the Marauders; at least the Marauders had had the ability to stand their ground when confronted.

He turned back to the remaining boy who drew back a little but offered an awkward smile.

"Uh, thanks," Harry hunched up, head bobbing. "You didn't have to do that."

Regulus scrutinized him for a moment before shrugging. "They were being rude so it was only right to cut in. ...Straighten your posture, kid. You even look like a bully victim standing like that."

A splash of red rose in Harry's face but the kid hastily squared his shoulders. Regulus nodded curtly before turning on his heel and returning to his bench, picking up his newspaper again.

He watched as Harry hesitated, looking like he wasn't certain what to do next, but when Regulus made a great show of becoming immersed in his paper again, the boy gave him one last curious look before hurrying out of the park.

Regulus waited until Nymphadora had also vacated the vicinity before getting up himself.

Time to head back. He hadn't gotten a very good read on Harry's personality in their minutes-long interaction so maybe he'd come back another day to see if the kid would be in this park again. It wouldn't do to appear in too many places around this neighbourhood, especially within throwing distance of Harry Potter.

In the meantime, he had to focus on recovering some more before his magic would be up to conjuring fiendfyre on the locket that Kreacher had been unable to destroy but had faithfully kept it hidden for him for sixteen years.

**III.**

"Another word for describing someone or something as daft; nine letters."

"Imbecilic. Much like the world we live in."

Harry snickered and scribbled down the last word. "You're pretty good at this."

Sitting beside him, the man waved a dismissive hand. "More like this crossword is too easy."

"Too easy?" Harry huffed incredulously. "You got 'apogeny' and 'adiaphoron' earlier. I didn't even know those were real words."

"You're still young," The man countered in a tone that would've been condescending if it hadn't been for the faint smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Harry just scowled good-naturedly as he folded up the paper once more.

After that first day when the man beside him had defended him from Dudley and his cronies, Harry's feet had led him back to the park the next day, and somehow or other, he'd managed to strike up a conversation with the stranger, partly out of curiosity and partly because the man had just felt... familiar for some reason.

Three days later, after a few near-unnoticeable stumbles on the stranger's part whenever something really Muggle was brought up, Harry had taken a chance and had asked if his acquaintance was a wizard.

Or at least he had tried to ask, but before he could get half the words out, the man had thrust a crossword under his nose with the simple message '_you are being watched'_ written under it.

Of course, Harry's first instinct had been to jump up and pull his wand out but the man had delayed that reaction by engaging him in the crossword while also eyeing him with an exasperated gaze that told him not to give himself away.

And then the man had proceeded to write out three entire paragraphs about the Order of the Phoenix and Harry's guards and the lack of activity from Voldemort's end and the utter incompetence of the Ministry currently doing their level best to run a smear campaign against Harry himself. All under the pretense of working on the crossword of course.

To say that the man had risen several hundred degrees in Harry's eyes for _not_ keeping him in the dark would be an understatement of massive proportions.

Obviously though, Harry had had to ask – on paper – whether or not the man was part of this Order, and the man had denied it. He'd merely told Harry that _Harry's_ safety was important to him by proxy, and he'd decided to do a bit guard duty himself.

Harry rather suspected that there was something more than that, but the man hadn't tried to harm him yet, and judging by how easily he had been able to teach Harry to pick out where his Order guards were standing without letting them know, Harry figured that the man had had plenty of time to capture or kill him, and a measly protection detail wouldn't have been able to stop him.

From then on, afternoons were spent talking about magic or homework or doing crossword puzzles even after the man had begun erecting undetectable wards around them before Harry joined him so that the Order guard-of-the-day wouldn't be able to see them doing anything except pouring over a Muggle newspaper or chatting about inane subjects.

"You still haven't given me your name, you know?" Harry remarked.

"No I haven't," The man agreed easily. "And you really shouldn't trust a complete stranger but here we are."

"You're not a complete stranger," Harry argued back. "Besides, I told you, there's something about you or maybe how you look-"

"I'm under a glamour," The man reminded him.

"Well then, it's something about you then that's kind of familiar," Harry insisted stubbornly. "Why can't you just give me a name? I have to call you something."

"...Because I'm technically dead, kid," The man revealed sardonically as Harry's mouth dropped open. "They had a funeral for me and everything but I survived. It's better if I stay 'dead' though, and that'll only happen if no one starts flinging my name around again after all these years. I wasn't a very good person back then." He flashed a mirthless smirk that Harry could swear he had seen somewhere before. "Still not a particularly good person now."

Harry remembered to close his mouth, and then shook his head. The man was always like that, throwing out a few tidbits and no more about himself every day, and Harry always hoarded them all away for later perusal.

"Now enough of that," The man leaned back and crossed his arms in an imperious motion that suddenly reminded Harry of Lucius Malfoy. "How are you getting on with Occlumency?"

That was another thing. After Harry had found out that the man was a wizard, it had taken all of half an afternoon talking about Hogwarts for the man to calmly tell Harry that he was frankly surprised that his brain had not yet turned to mush with how little Harry was stimulating it.

Harry had been more than a little irritated at first at being called stupid (without actually being called stupid; the older wizard had to have been a Slytherin for sure), but then the man had proceeded to launch into a lecture on the finer points of Vanishment and Conjuration, as well as an assortment of charms and how to increase and decrease their strength levels, and Harry had been hooked.

Because the man was a veritable genius.

At school, Harry usually had little interest in schoolwork. He did well enough but some of the classes, especially when McGonagall or Flitwick spent a solid week droning on about theory, well, it was more than a little boring.

But the older wizard made it interesting, and more than that, there were details that he stuck in that weren't in any of Harry's textbooks.

When asked about it, the man had admitted with smug pride, "I've done my own research in my time. My grades at school were nothing to scoff at."

And so the impromptu lessons had begun, though the man had insisted on Occlumency first.

"I'll tell you now, Harry," The man had said with a bitter twist of his lips. "Dumbledore can read your mind. So can Snape for that matter, and while I don't know about the latter, I do know that your esteemed Headmaster loves poking around in other people's heads. All for the Greater Good of course."

Seeing as Dumbledore had always seemed to know more than anyone else at any given time, Harry hadn't had much difficulty believing that, especially with how frustrated he was with the Headmaster this summer.

"I think I got the first layer of shields down," He replied now, shifting to face the man. "Could you check...?"

"That _is_ what I'm here for," The man said wryly, and then grey eyes met Harry's, and a gentle pressure slipped into his mind, probing at the shaky shields that Harry had managed to erect.

Minutes later, the man pulled back out, and Harry blinked the weird feeling away. It was never painful but it was a bit strange to have someone else actively working in his head.

"They're a good start," The man announced. "Keep up the meditation and begin reinforcing those shields. Your scar's better these days?"

Harry nodded. That was another reason for the Occlumency. When he had meandered into the park once after a sleepless night because his scar had felt like a brand on his forehead, it hadn't taken much for the older wizard to guess that it was a connection to Voldemort, which just made the Occlumency even more important.

"Why are you doing this anyway?" Harry asked as he always did, crossing his legs on the bench. "Helping me, I mean. You have to admit, it's kind of odd."

"What's odd is your willingness to trust that I'm only helping you," The man returned, also not for the first time.

"You're familiar," Harry reiterated, peering at the man. "Are you sure I don't know you?"

The older wizard sighed in a long-suffering manner. "Quite sure, Harry. ...I suppose I could tell you that we have a mutual acquaintance, though _he_ doesn't know I'm alive either, thank Merlin."

"Why?" Harry jumped on this piece of information as his brain went over all the people he knew. "Do you not like each other? It's not _Snape_, is it?"

The man snorted, and then paused. "Well actually, he could be since I went to school with him, but that's true for quite a few adults in your life. So no, he's not who I mean."

Harry frowned in thought. "...You were a Slytherin then? You act like a Slytherin. A Pureblood too."

The man inclined his head. "Yes to both. Snape was a friend actually, even though he was almost two years older than me. Or at least as much of a friend as anyone in Slytherin can ever be."

Harry was horrified. "You were _friends_ with _Snape_?"

Some of the good humour faded from the man's face, and Harry instantly regretted his words.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," He added hastily. "It's just... Snape hates me."

"Not surprising," The man acknowledged. "He hated your father, though if there was one person he hated more than James Potter, it would be Sirius Black, and you're related to both."

Harry weighed his next words for a moment before choosing carefully, "They say that Sirius Black is a Death Eater."

The man hummed noncommittally.

Harry looked at him for a long moment. "...Are _you_ a Death Eater?"

The man looked amused now. "What a Gryffindor you are. And if I say yes? Will you run for the hills?"

"I don't think I'd be able to get out of the park before you took me down, much less the hills," Harry deadpanned, and the man released an uncharacteristic bark of laughter.

Harry blinked. _That_ was familiar too.

"I was," The man said, and Harry forgot all about it as concentrated on the topic at hand. The older wizard's grey eyes were distant now as they stared sightlessly ahead. "A Death Eater. Inner Circle too. Worst decision of my life, and trust me when I say I've made quite a few bad ones."

For a brief moment, Harry really did wonder if maybe this teacher-student-almost-friend relationship was a bad idea. The older wizard had been a _Death Eater_, for Merlin's sake, and all the Death Eaters Harry knew were never good news for him.

But the man had been good to him, and hell, Harry had already let him into his _mind_. There had been dozens of chances to capture or kill Harry over the past three weeks, and the man had never taken advantage of any of them.

(And if Harry was honest, a large part of him was just happy that someone had found him worth paying attention to. Even the letters from his friends and godfather had held nothing useful, and the daily conversations with the older wizard served to take his mind off Cedric and the graveyard too. Occlumency didn't hurt either.)

Besides, this made things easier.

"Then you know that Sirius wasn't a Death Eater, right?" Harry blurted out.

The wizard didn't so much as bat an eye. "Of course. Pettigrew was the one who showed up now and then. I never liked him even back in school. Then again, I didn't much like Potter or Lupin either, or Black."

"Why not?" Harry asked curiously. "Was it just because you were a Slytherin and they were Gryffindors?"

The man's mouth pinched together as he glanced over at Harry. "Do you want the truth or a pretty lie? Because I guarantee that you won't like the truth."

"...The truth," Harry said firmly.

Something like approval flashed briefly in the older wizard's eyes. "Before Evans – your mother – straightened them out, the Marauders were both pranksters and bullies. Most of the time, their pranks were relatively harmless, but when it came to Slytherins, well, sometimes, they could be cruel, especially Potter and Black. They'd pick students out and mortify them in public, laugh about it, and make other people laugh, and it just made House rivalry even worse. They even made a few younger Slytherins cry once or twice, though obviously, they hid it until they were back in the privacy of their dorms. Lupin certainly didn't have enough of a spine to stop his friends, and Pettigrew isn't even worth mentioning."

Harry's first instinct was to deny it. They were his father and godfather after all, not to mention Lupin had been a good friend of theirs, and what little he'd heard about them had always been good.

But he bit his tongue and thought about it. The man had never lied to him to date, and he had said that the Marauders' pranks were harmless most of the time, which sounded like an unbiased assessment, even if it was hard to hear that they had been bullies too.

Harry hated bullies. To think that his own father had been one...

"You're a lot like your mother," The man commented when Harry only scowled down at his hands.

Harry's head snapped back up. "Huh? Wait, what?"

"'I beg your pardon', not 'huh' or 'what'," The man corrected somewhat automatically. "Don't be so uncouth." He paused before muttering, "Wonderful, now I sound like Mother."

He sighed but forged on. "I said – you're a lot like your mum. Evans always tried to listen to both sides before judging, fair even to the Slytherins, especially after she became a prefect."

"My- My mother was a prefect?" Harry asked, a little dazed.

The man frowned. "No one ever told you? Your mother was a prefect and Head Girl; your father was Head Boy. Lupin was also a prefect, and Si- Black was neither."

Harry was silent for a long moment, lost in thought, before asking almost tentatively, "Can you... tell me more about them? I know you weren't friends but you seem to know a bit about them..."

The man eyed him with a momentarily soft gaze before nodding once. "Let's see then... Quidditch; you like Quidditch, don't you? Your father was a Chaser, Black was a Beater, and Lupin often did the commentary. Always snuck in his own anecdotes every match and made McGonagall lose her temper at least three times a year with some of the remarks he made."

"Lupin?" Harry asked in disbelief, trying to imagine his third-year DADA professor acting like Lee Jordan.

The older wizard cocked his head. "I take it he's not like that anymore? Well, everyone changes, but he _was_ a Marauder for a reason.

"The Marauders as a whole racked up a tremendous number of detentions over the years but they were excellent students as well. I wasn't in any classes with them obviously but I heard that Potter was outstanding in Transfiguration and Defence while your mother excelled in Charms and Potions. Not that they didn't do quite well in other subjects but they shone in those particular areas. Lupin was the academic sort as well but he had a knack for Arithmancy, and he had disturbingly good marks in History despite having Binns as a teacher. Black was also quite good at a number of subjects, though he preferred Defence and Charms, and he took Muggle Studies just to infuriate his family.

"Then there was the fact that your mother hated your father for a solid five and a half years before Potter finally pulled his head out of his arse and grew up enough to..."

And that was how they spent the rest of the afternoon, and Harry found it sad that he had to rely on a man who he didn't even know the name of to find out more about his parents, yet at the same time, he was glad that there was someone who was willing to tell him about them at all.

**IV.**

"Try again; just remember to focus on where you're going."

Harry nodded determinedly, took a deep breath, and turned on his heel again, disappearing with a faint pop and feeling a squeeze around his middle before reappearing again three feet away.

He grinned and spun to face his teacher. "I did it!"

The older wizard inclined his head with a small smile on his face. "Nicely done. Remember to hold on to that feeling. In addition to splinching, you don't want to be Apparating or Disapparating like other wizards do with that ridiculously loud crack."

Harry nodded resolutely, and then snuck a peek over at where his Order guard was standing in the shade of a tree. "Who is it today?"

"Vance, I believe," The man said briskly. "Don't worry; she can only see and hear what the wards show her."

"Can you teach me those wards sometime?" Harry asked hopefully. They seemed rather useful.

The man smiled fleetingly. "You take Care and Divination. To learn warding, you need Arithmancy and Runes, and since you're already going into your fifth year come September, it's a bit too late to switch. You take your OWLs this year after all."

Harry grimaced. Maybe he shouldn't have taken the same electives as Ron after all. He'd stick with Care of Magical Creatures because of Hagrid but it wasn't as if Divination had ever done him any good. Now he was regretting it.

"I could give you some books if you wish," The man interjected. "You can start studying on the side if you truly have such an ambition to learn."

Harry nodded immediately. After hearing how both his parents – especially his mother – had been top students in school, he had found that he no longer wanted to stay at the average that he had been pulling, not to mention his teacher would undoubtedly be disappointed with him.

Eyeing a patch of grass five feet away, Harry exhaled and then Apparated once more, grinning with satisfaction at the near lack of sound and overall success.

Four weeks with an ex-Death Eater and he was already breaking the law and not caring. Apparition was illegal until he got his licence at seventeen at the earliest but apparently, Apparating was like driving a car; if you weren't caught by the police, then nothing was really stopping you if you knew how to do it.

"So do I get a prize for learning Apparition?" Harry joked as he flopped down on the bench.

His teacher sat down much more elegantly, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I suppose so, if it's a reasonable request."

Harry did a double-take. "Really? I don't even have to think about it. I want to know your name."

The older wizard blinked before sighing in resignation, and Harry inwardly crowed in triumph. "...Reg. Or Reggie."

Harry cocked his head. "...Reg. That... doesn't fit."

The man – Reg? Seriously? – chuckled. "Both are nicknames, though only a handful of people have ever called me either. You may as well."

Harry wasn't sure whether or not to be flattered about this. "So you won't tell me your real name then? Is it because our mutual acquaintancewould know it?"

Reg just shrugged. "It is not a common name so quite a number of people would know it."

Harry glanced at him. "But why don't you want people to know? I mean I'm pretty sure Snape was a Death Eater-"

"He was," Reg said rather bluntly.

"I knew it," Harry muttered darkly but didn't dwell on it. It wasn't as if it was news that Snape could be as hate-inducing as a Death Eater; the man fit the bill perfectly. "Anyway, _he_ got off scot-free, and he's allowed in a school full of children."

"He's got Dumbledore's backing though," Reg countered in a hard voice. "Which means Dumbledore's holding something over his head. I'd rather die than become that twinkle-eyed puppet-master's lapdog."

Harry blinked. This wasn't the first time that Reg had touched on his dislike for the Headmaster but he'd never said why. Would Dumbledore really stoop to _blackmail_ of all things?

"It would be like trading one master for another," Reg cut in cynically. "And I've had enough of serving other people for one lifetime."

Harry watched as Reg's hand unconsciously drifted to his left forearm.

"Can I see it?" The words were out before Harry could stop them, and he earned himself another quicksilver flash of amusement from Reg.

"You inherited Evans' nosiness," Reg announced, but after a second's contemplation, he scooted over a little and tugged up the left sleeves of his coat, sweater, and shirt. Taking out his wand, he tapped it once against his forearm, and the glamour in that area dissipated.

(When Harry was back at Hogwarts and could use magic again, he was going to learn the Glamour Charm if it killed him. Altering his appearance and hiding his scar was dead useful in public.)

"Most people say I'm like my dad," Harry confessed as he peered down cautiously at the snake-and-skull tattoo. It was the first time he had ever seen it up close but the most startling thing to him was how thin and pale Reg's arm was. Harry could actually see the wrist bones jutting out as if the man had been sick recently and had lost a lot of weight.

He mentally shook his head and promised himself that he'd sneak a late lunch out from under his aunt's nose starting tomorrow to give to Reg.

The Mark itself stood out starkly against the pallid skin. It was black but the colour was faint as if whatever connection it had with Voldemort was hanging by a thread.

"Most people would be wrong," Regulus scoffed patronizingly, astonishingly patient as Harry continued studying the man's forearm. "I suppose you do look remarkably like James Potter, except for the eyes, and you've told me you're an excellent flyer, but from what I've seen over the past few weeks, your personality leans more towards that of your mother's. You certainly have her work ethic. When you choose to apply yourself to your studies anyway."

Harry flushed a little, embarrassed and proud in equal measure. He'd never say it out loud but now that he knew more about his parents, that was probably the best compliment anyone had ever paid him.

"Why isn't it darker?" Harry enquired, focusing on the Mark once more. "Now that Voldemort's back and all."

Reg withdrew, recasting the glamour and rolling down his sleeves again. Harry couldn't help noticing the minute shiver that wracked the man's frame even though the sun was high in the sky and Reg was wearing at least three layers.

"People thought I died for a reason," Reg explained. "I did come quite close to death, so my best guess would be that that was enough to weaken the Mark's hold on my magical core."

Harry frowned in alarm. "That thing is connected to your magical core?"

Reg inclined his head. "Yes, it's Dark magic, and it binds us to the Dark Lord until the day we die so that he can summon us whenever he wishes, as well as feed on our magic if he ever has the need to."

Harry reeled back in horror. "Well- Can't you remove it?! What if Voldemort finds out you're alive? He'll kill you, won't he? Since you've left his side."

Reg looked startled for a moment at Harry's vehement concern (Harry didn't know why; it was a _valid_ concern) before offering a rare, almost fond smile that made Harry's ears burn.

"For a Potter, you turned out alright," Reg conceded. "You need not worry; I'm already working on a solution. It's too weak to do much of anything right now anyway so I will be fine until I can remove it."

"Oh, okay," Harry released a breath of relief. "You'll tell me once it's off, won't you? Or if you need help with anything? Not that I'd be much help but still."

Reg acquiesced with a nod. "I will, but nothing should go wrong."

They lapsed into a companionable silence after that, Reg staring with mild contempt at the invisible Vance while Harry mulled over how much his life had changed in the span of four weeks. Having someone to talk to and take him seriously made all the difference. At the beginning of summer, all he had been able to think about was Cedric (_dead_) and Voldemort (_who had risen again_) and nightmares of cemeteries and death. The lack of anything concrete from his friends only served to upset him and make him even angrier, and the pain in his scar hadn't helped matters.

And then Reg had come along out of the blue, and yeah, Harry knew that he really should've been more wary of the man instead of simply trusting his gut instinct and letting the wizard close, especially with Reg being a former but still confirmed _Death Eater_, yet the wizard certainly didn't remind Harry of Snape or Crouch or even Mr. Malfoy with the exception of that subtle Pureblood countenance, and even then, Reg didn't act all high and mighty like all the Malfoys did.

And ever since Harry had met him, Reg had always been an odd combination of adult and peer. Most of the time, the older wizard would be Harry's teacher, guiding him through Occlumency and Apparition, assisting him with his homework, and even giving him a few books on jinxes and hexes to read that all had Reg's handwriting in the margins, depicting tips on wand movements and elaborating on new spells derived from variations of the ones already in the texts.

But then, strangely enough, there would be the occasional handful of times when Reg would act closer to Harry's age, perhaps a few years older, and that part of the wizard helped Harry see past the grownup.

So with someone who was an adult but also seemed like he wasn't too old to relate to a teenager, Harry figured that he really couldn't be blamed for confiding a few of his worst nightmares to Reg.

The first time Harry had mumbled something about the cemetery and Cedric, Reg had looked somewhere between highly unnerved and downright terrified like he wasn't at all used to dealing with teenage angst but the man had listened anyway, and at the end, Reg hadn't pushed him to talk about it anymore than what Harry had been willing to say.

Harry had been pathetically grateful for that because he already had Hermione urging him to write to her about his feelings on the matter, and that by doing so, it would help him with his mental trauma.

Needless to say, Harry hadn't done any such thing, especially when she – and Ron – hadn't stopped ignoring all his questions in favour of 'let's talk about what you went through in June' and 'keep your head down' messages. After meeting Reg, Harry had already written that he didn't need to talk about his ordeal in June with them (without actually telling them about _Reg_ of course), and as for keeping his head down, well what did they think he was going to do? Skip out of Little Whinging and go on a hunt for Voldemort?

Harry snorted to himself, shaking his head and glancing at Reg who was watching a Muggle couple – a boy with a cigarette hanging between his fingers and a giggling vapid-looking girl hanging off his free arm – with muted revulsion.

"You don't like Muggles, huh?" Harry asked, not really surprised.

Reg met his gaze evenly. "No, I don't. They have no magic, and if they ever find out about us, they will lash out and try to kill us all, simply because they are jealous or afraid or both. They outnumber us so they would eradicate us, one way or another."

Harry grimaced at the outcome Reg painted. He could actually see it as well; he _had_ grown up with the Dursleys after all. Still, he felt like he should say something in their overall populace's defence. "Not all Muggles are bad though."

"I am aware," Reg acknowledged a little stiffly. "It is not because they are Muggles that they will lash out; it is because it is human nature to fear what they cannot understand. In this, wizards are no different than Muggles, but between us and them, I'd choose us."

Harry nodded slowly. "What about Muggleborns?"

Reg's face blanked. "My parents raised me with the belief that Muggleborns and half-bloods are beneath us, but personally, I am indifferent to them. Magic is magic in the end. I would not be talking to you otherwise."

Harry smiled somewhat sheepishly. That was a good point. Still, it was nice to have confirmation that Reg didn't have any prejudices against them. The older wizard probably _had_ once upon a time but he'd obviously changed his way of thinking, and that was good enough for Harry.

"Voldemort is a half-blood too," Harry disclosed, but to his surprise, Reg only nodded.

"I know," The wizard sounded wry. "That was one of the reasons that helped changed my mind about blood purity. The Dark Lord's strength is formidable, and clearly more powerful than any pureblood I can think of off the top of my head."

Harry nodded again, and then ventured, "What happened to you? Why did you leave the Death Eaters? I don't think most people do."

Reg was silent for a long minute, features closed off, but he did eventually answer. "Most people choose not to defect from Voldemort's cause because they either truly believe in it or they are too afraid to do so once they are in. You cannot resign from the Death Eaters, or retire. The only way you leave them is through death. You serve until you are dead, and more often than not, your progeny will take your place after that. The only reason I managed it is because I _was_ prepared to die. It was only... the loyalty of a friend that prevented it."

"They must be a good friend then," Harry remarked, thinking of Hermione – who had always been loyal even though she tended to nag a lot – and then of Ron – who had betrayed him once already but had still come back.

"He is," A smile graced Reg's face. "He was the only friend I had who stuck with me to the very end, and still does to this day." He stopped for a moment, and then blanched as if he had tasted something horrible. "Merlin help me, that just made me sound like a bloody Gryffindor."

Harry couldn't bite back a snicker. "Or a Hufflepuff," He pointed out, smirking when Reg's eyebrows twitched with irritation.

"Quiet, brat, or you'll leave me mentally scarred," The older wizard retorted but there was no heat behind his words. "Then again, I always knew spending time with Gryffindors would deplete my IQ through proximity alone so I have no one to blame but myself."

Harry just grinned. Even now, a part of him couldn't believe that he could even smile much less joke around but despite the fact that Reg wasn't one for talking a lot (teaching aside), the man had a quick wit and a dry humour, and had patience in spades when describing concepts to Harry without making Harry feel like a little kid who couldn't understand anything.

"The sun's setting," Reg observed, stretching before getting to his feet. "I must be going, and you should too."

"Right," Harry tried hard not to show his disappointment that another day was over. Honestly, his afternoons were the highlights of his summer nowadays, though at least he had all the extra books to read back at the Dursleys. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Reg's hand extended towards Harry's head as if he was about to ruffle his hair, but the older wizard aborted the gesture a second later and offered a simple nod instead. "Yes, until tomorrow, Harry."

As they stepped away from the bench, the wards around them melted away without Vance any the wiser. She would only have seen Harry and Reg finishing their conversation and getting up to leave, and Harry resolved himself to learn all he could from the books that Reg would be giving him. Perhaps McGonagall would be willing to let him drop Divination and take up Runes in sixth year if he could somehow catch up. And he could self-study for Arithmancy; that subject was basically like math and Harry had always been good at that subject.

He waved goodbye to Reg one more time as they exited the park before parting ways. For once in his life since he could remember, he actually wasn't looking forward to leaving Privet Drive.

Would wonders never cease.

**V.**

Staring down at the now melted lump of charcoal that Salazar Slytherin's locket had been reduced to, Regulus smiled, dark and satisfied. One down, at least three to go.

The Dark Lord, as Regulus had found out all those years ago, had a rather unwise penchant for monologuing to himself and his inner circle, and while Voldemort hadn't told any of them about the Horcruxes, he _had_ dropped enough hints about immortality and 'safeguards' for Regulus to take a good guess. And back then, after months of careful eavesdropping on a few conversations between Bellatrix and Lucius, as well as piecing together everything he had managed to glean from Kreacher's account of his trip with the Dark Lord with everything _else_ he had already learned, he knew that both Bella and Lucius had one Horcrux in each of their possession, Bella's most likely in her vault since she would never leave it lying around in her husband's house, and Lucius' probably in his mansion.

He also knew that Voldemort had made another Horcrux with an object that had belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, and had then left it at Hogwarts. He had come by that piece of information through pure chance; the Dark Lord had said something along the lines of 'I have left my mark even at Hogwarts' right after he had bragged (yet again) about having safeguards, and while the other Death Eaters in the room at the time – Bella who was insane and could trump Regulus in a duel any day of the year but wasn't exactly the smartest of witches and would never question her lord anyway, Mulciber Senior who was dead now, and Avery Senior who was also dead – had been too busy marvelling at the Dark Lord's claims of immortality, Regulus – who had only been there because he had been called in to wait at the door and later ordered to retrieve the Lestranges for Voldemort; it was nice to be overlooked as someone who could never pose a threat – had understood the meaning behind those words.

So, the locket which he had just destroyed, something under Lucius' protection which was going to take a hell of a lot of planning and luck to get to, another under Bella's protection which was going to take a _monumental_ amount of planning, outrageous luck, and a death wish or ten for good measure, and one more somewhere in Hogwarts.

And _that_ was assuming that Voldemort had only made four.

Which Regulus seriously doubted because the Dark Lord was just _that_ crazy. The snake-man had probably made more.

Regulus heaved a sigh and dropped into the armchair beside the fire crackling in the hearth, leaving the locket sitting on the burnt patch of carpet on the ground.

He wasn't cut out for this sort of thing, being _Gryffindor_ and _courageous_ and _heroic_. He wasn't brave like Sirius, who was bold enough to refuse Slytherin House despite tradition and expectations, and fearless enough to go against their parents despite their threats, and daring enough to fight for his own ideals despite the danger.

Before Sirius had left for Hogwarts, Regulus had always had his big brother to protect him from thunderstorms and screaming mothers and Crucios, but once Sirius had turned eleven, Regulus had been left to fend for himself, and he had found himself floundering, caving under Walburga Black's demands and heavy wand hand.

And then Potter had happened, and Regulus hadn't been lying to Harry when he had told the boy that he had disliked James Potter, and not just because he had turned Sirius against Regulus in their pranks, stringing him up by his ankles to the ceiling until a professor came along to free him, humiliating him in the Great Hall by vanishing his clothes so that he had been left standing in nothing but his boxers, and Sirius had _laughed_. Regulus hadn't even gotten an apology. He had still been young enough to want to be comforted though, and Cissa had been the one to hug him and hex Sirius and even Potter for him afterwards.

But what really stung when it came to James Potter was how he had taken Sirius away from Regulus. His brother had written a few letters to him that first year he had been away, and Regulus had cherished every last one of them, especially after he had accidentally done something to displease his mother – again – and had been cursed for it (_"Consider this training, Regulus, for when you join the Dark Lord's glorious cause, and you must be able to stand a little pain. Now get up and stop whimpering."_), but those had slowly dwindled, and then, come summer, Sirius had returned, and everything had been different. It was always Hogwarts and James and pranks and James and the Marauders and _my best friend, practically my brother, James_, and Regulus had hated the Potter scion before he had even met him.

He took a deep breath. Now wasn't the time to dredge up old grudges, especially against a dead man. He had even done his best so far to give Harry an unbiased opinion of James Potter in his accounts, not wanting to turn the kid against his father. After all, Potter hadn't been a _bad_ man per se; he had been good to the people he had cared about. Besides, Regulus was thirty-four, far too old to be holding on to so much resentment, for all that he sometimes still felt like he was only eighteen years old.

It was that reason that made Regulus feel both pleased and uncomfortable whenever Harry looked at him with undisguised appreciation, all because he had shown the kid some genuine attention. On one hand, he had never had anyone look up to him before, and it was a heady feeling, but at the same time, Regulus had never meant to get close to the kid either. At the beginning, even if they talked, he had expected that they'd simply share a few words now and then, but before he had consciously realized it, Regulus was already teaching Harry some of the things he knew and listening to the teen even when the conversation material had been purely inconsequential to anything directly related to Regulus.

He hadn't thought the boy would be so easy to get along with. After all, Harry was Potter's son, yet it hadn't taken long for Evans to shine through as well.

Lily Evans had been Muggleborn and Gryffindor, two things that every Slytherin who didn't want to be shunned by his own House automatically hated, yet when it came to Evans, even most of the more zealous purebloods would grudgingly admit – though never publicly – that she was someone worth respecting. Smart without being solely book-oriented, clever enough to be cunning when it came to verbal blows between her and the Marauders, open-minded and fair even towards the worst of Slytherins no matter how badly they sneered at her or how much she personally detested them, but still strict and unforgiving when it came to punishing the guilty parties no matter which House they were in.

People like her were born once in a blue moon yet Regulus could see some of her in her son. Some of Harry's Slytherin prejudice slipped through when he talked about Cissa's boy but it sounded as if young Draco had practically started every altercation, and Regulus was certain that Harry would dislike that kid just as much even if Draco had been Sorted into Gryffindor. If Regulus could curb that growing aversion now, then maybe it wouldn't spread to the rest of the Slytherins without just cause.

A crack stirred him from his thoughts, and Regulus glanced to the side as Kreacher appeared, fuming as he always seemed to be after dealing with the people currently running amok in Grimmauld Place.

"Mudbloods and blood traitors are desecrating Master Regulus' home!" The old elf wailed, wringing his hands. "The mudblood girl was just trying to break in to Master Regulus' book collection in the library!"

Regulus' eyes narrowed. He had nothing against Muggleborns, and the girl obviously couldn't have known, but that didn't mean he wasn't irritated that someone was trying to touch his personal belongings, especially his books. It was under lock and key and wards for a reason, and the only reason that particular set of books had still been stored on the first floor of the library was because the material in them weren't predominantly Dark, not to mention the books themselves – while enjoyable – weren't among his top favourites.

"Did you manage to move them?" He asked, frowning.

Kreacher nodded vigorously. "Of course; Master Regulus' books are safe. Kreacher moved the collection to the second floor when the mudblood went to find Master Regulus' brother to open the case for her."

Regulus smiled. "Good job, Kreacher, thank you."

Kreacher smiled back, and then scowled and popped away once more, presumably called by Sirius to enquire about the missing case of books.

Regulus wasn't worried. He was still a Black despite theorizing that his heart had temporarily stopped when the Inferi had gotten hold of him, which was why his death date had appeared on the family tapestry. But since he was still alive, there were technically two lords of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black now, and unless Sirius demanded directly with absolutely no room for voluntary misinterpretation (and Sirius had never been very good at covering loopholes whereas Kreacher was a virtuoso at finding them), then Regulus' orders would take precedence for Kreacher.

Aside from that, Sirius had also ran away from Grimmauld Place a year before he had come of age, so he hadn't been shown all the secret passages and rooms in their ancestral home, which included the guest wing that Regulus was currently living in, the two extra floors of the library, and countless passageways snaking throughout the house. There was even a set of potions labs in the basement hidden away by their father since there were rare ingredients stored inside and he hadn't wanted his children to accidentally – or purposefully – get their hands into them until they had at least become legal adults.

Sirius may be the official Lord Black now but Regulus was the one who knew the family's secrets, their charters with allied families, and the sum capital and contents of the Black vaults as well as their yearly income and investments despite no longer being able to get into them without drawing attention to himself.

He glanced down at the Horcrux once more before flicking his wand at it.

The locket vanished, reappearing on the top bookshelf at the other end of the room. It was just a lump of melted metal now.

With a sigh, Regulus got to his feet again, lips thinning when he felt himself waver before steadying properly. He was still weak, especially after that controlled fiendfyre he had produced.

Moving across the room, he paused beside an empty portrait frame, and then tapped it with his wand. The inside of the frame shimmered before clearing, and Regulus winced as a loud overbearing voice abruptly filled his ears.

"Sirius, make yourself useful and go upstairs and get that second drawing room cleaned, won't you? This place is such a mess."

Regulus' lip curled as he watched his brother glower at the Weasley woman's expectant dismissal but obediently slouched out of the kitchen in the end, grumbling under his breath.

Pitiful. Had Azkaban truly reduced Sirius Black into this? Being ordered about in his own house by someone who was really just a guest and should – _at the very least_ – have the common courtesy to act accordingly? But no, Molly Weasley bustled through Grimmauld Place as if she was the Lady of the House, and Regulus was even more disgusted by the fact that her husband – _Lord_ of the House of Weasley even though _that_ family had left almost all the olde customs behind – allowed her to do as she pleased.

Regulus didn't care if Arthur Weasley wished to treat his wife as his equal; hell, he approved of having a spouse that wasn't just decoration at the patriarch's side. He had thanked Merlin when Cissa had assured him that Lucius respected and listened to her opinions, and was a softer man to his family behind closed doors.

But Arthur Weasley didn't treat his wife as an equal; rather, from what Regulus had seen, the man had no spine when it came to reprimanding her when she was out of line, as she had been ever since she had stepped foot in the Blacks' ancestral home.

Mouth twisting, Regulus tapped the one-way mirror once more, and the image blanked out again. He always made it a point to not watch the goings-on in the rest of the house for too long for fear of being too tempted to storm out there and give his brother a good wakeup shake. Sirius had never been this passive even in the face of their mother, _especially _their mother, and Walburga Black was about a thousand times more terrifying than Molly Weasley.

Turning his attention to his arm next, he prodded his Dark Mark cautiously. This wretched tattoo was next on his project list. He had a vague idea on the complicated chain of spells needed to get rid of it but he needed a more thorough understanding of the procedure before he tried it; he didn't want to inadvertently damage his arm or blast it off completely.

So, to the library.

**VI.**

"Memorize these basic runes," Regulus instructed. "They're like the English alphabet. Once you know them, you'll be able to put them together to form bigger and stronger runes to power your wards. I'll check over your Arithmancy equations while you're doing that."

Harry nodded, exchanging the newest assignment that Regulus had given him two days ago with the chart that Regulus had drawn up last night.

The kid was brilliant at Arithmancy. Regulus had no idea why Harry hadn't chosen that as an elective back in third year when he clearly had such a natural talent for it.

An elbow nudging at his arm made him look up, and he sighed when he caught the meaningful rise of Harry's eyebrows and not-very-subtle glance between Regulus and the chicken sandwich wrapped in ser-ran currently sitting uneaten in his lap. For some reason, the boy had started bringing food with him to these visits five days ago. Did Regulus seem hungry or something?

With a long-suffering sigh, Regulus unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite, ignoring the triumphant grin on Harry's face as the boy went back to his bowl of chilli. He still wasn't very hungry these days but the kid had gone to the trouble of bringing him food, and Regulus knew that Harry's home life wasn't great, so he always tried to eat some of it but only if Harry ate some of the food _Regulus _had taken to bringing as well. Teenagers usually ate more food at this age, and Harry always looked a little thinner than was strictly healthy. Kreacher was grudgingly happy to prepare a variety of foods for Regulus to take with him every day, still not liking the fact that Harry was a half-blood but willing to make an exception for the kid because Kreacher had gotten into his head the idea that he had gained an ally in his 'Get Master Regulus to Eat' campaign.

(Between shooting both of them exasperated looks and musing to himself over which one of them was more troublesome, Regulus had found out that Harry's favourite dessert was treacle tart as well.)

Crack!

Regulus' wand was out and he was on his feet before Harry's head had even jerked up from the Runes chart.

"What was that?!" The kid yelped, scrambling to his feet as well and tugging out his own wand. "It sounded like a car backfiring!"

"Someone just Apparated," Regulus informed him calmly, still scanning the area.

"_That's_ what normal Apparition sounds like?" Harry looked bewildered. "People from two streets over can hear that! What if you want to get away undetected?"

"Yes, that _is_ why I invented my own version," Regulus replied sardonically. "Now hush. Hmm... never mind what I said before, someone just _Dis_apparated. Fletcher's gone."

"Did something happen to him?" Harry asked anxiously, still looking around. "I thought it was his turn to tail me today."

Regulus scoffed disdainfully, lowering his wand but not putting it away. "Mundungus Fletcher idling an entire afternoon away in a Muggle suburb when he could be off selling his illegal wares? There's a reason he takes the least shifts when it comes to guarding you; even the Order of the Roasted Duck knows better than to assign him more than a few hours as your protection detail. My guess is that some sort of bargain was struck today right at this time and it was too good for him to pass up."

Harry had spluttered out a laugh at the name Regulus had tagged the Order with but he sobered again quickly enough. "So what should we do? He'll come back sooner or later, right? Do we just go back to what we were doing?"

Regulus didn't respond right away, still dissecting the park for impending threats. For some reason, the alarm bells in his head hadn't stopped ringing, and there was something a lot like dread in his stomach, a sickening uneasy feeling that brought up memories of killing sprees and Inferi and the Dark Lord's malicious laughter, all the things that scared Regulus most.

"I don't want to risk it," He finally decided, still keeping an eye out as he motioned for Harry to pack up. "Something feels wrong. The sun's going down anyway so grab your things; I want you behind your mother's blood wards as soon as possible."

Harry nodded at once, hastily gathering up his homework and stuffing it all into the worn-looking bag he had been using to carry his homework to the park. Regulus hurried things up by jabbing his wand at the half-eaten food, sealing the chilli in its container and floating it over to Harry before sending his own sandwich and the sheaf of Arithmancy assignments back to his rooms in Grimmauld Place.

"Ready?" He asked, letting the wards around them fall even as Harry slung his bag over one shoulder and nodded. "Okay, come on. Quickly."

They made it out of the park and halfway down Magnolia Road before it happened.

The orange-red sunset sky darkened all at once, dimming until there was absolutely no light left. The streetlamps that had started flickering on for the evening had also disappeared, and the distant rumble of cars and whisper of trees had gone. Even worse for Regulus, the evening had suddenly become piercingly, bitingly cold, and in his mind's eye, he could see the cave again, the water closing over his head as the Inferi dragged him down.

They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire street, blinding them.

Just like the cave and the lake and the clammy grasping hands-

"Reg?" Came Harry's nervous whisper, and it served as an anchor for Regulus, yanking him back out of the memories he had been succumbing to. "Reg, do you know what's happening?"

Regulus drew in a shuddering breath, and when he felt his brother's godson's hand brush against the sleeve of his coat, just missing the crook of his elbow, he swallowed hard and reached out blindly to clasp Harry's wrist in his hand. He didn't want the boy to go running off in a random direction or something equally stupid.

"Dementors," Regulus croaked, clearing his throat as he pulled Harry to his side. The teen didn't seem to mind, crowding even closer without hesitation. "Dementors in Little Whinging."

"What?!" Harry gasped from somewhere next to Regulus' shoulder. "That's impossible!"

"Yes, it should be," Regulus said grimly as he strained to see through the pitch black world around them. He flicked his wand and the tip lit up, shedding some light to their surroundings. "If I didn't know better, I'd say Fletcher planned this but your godfather at least would bury him if he had, not to mention he doesn't have the means to pull this off. This is just very bad timing."

"So what do we do?" Harry muttered, wand pointed in front of him. "I hate Dementors but if it comes down to it, I can produce a Patronus."

Regulus did a double-take. "You can? Corporeal?"

"Yeah, learned it in third year," There was a faint smile in Harry's voice. "Professor Lupin taught me."

Regulus grunted, silently impressed, and he didn't impress easily. Even he hadn't been able to produce a Patronus until fifth year for his OWL, and now...

Well, he'd be surprised if he still could.

"Harry, listen to me," Regulus said instead, shuddering as the air got even colder. "Do _not_ cast any magic unless you absolutely have to. The Ministry hates you right now; if you do magic, they will use this excuse to tear you apart."

"But it would be for self-defence!" Harry protested weakly.

Ah, to be that naive again. Regulus tightened his grip on the kid's wrist. "The Ministry _doesn't care_. They'll take any pretext they can to discredit you, make you seem crazy even, all to convince the wizarding world that the Dark Lord _isn't_ back. That's how stupidly scared they are. Besides, it's unbelievable enough for Dementors to appear in-"

Regulus stopped as the pieces clicked into place in his head. "Damn."

"Reg?" Harry even looked alarmed now. Regulus rarely swore.

"They sent them," Regulus comprehended softly. "Someone from the Ministry sent-"

He cut himself off, inhaling a lungful of ice as the chilling sound of long, hoarse, rattling breaths reached their ears from somewhere behind them. They whirled around, and there they were, two towering, hooded figures gliding towards them, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath their robes, sucking on the night as they came.

Regulus felt like he was drowning all over again.

No. He clenched his teeth. He had his brother's godson to take care of. He raised his wand, thinking of Sirius, but all he could see was his brother's angry face, sixteen and shouting and leaving Regulus behind. "Ex- Expecto Patronum."

Not even mist. Bloody fuck.

He thought again even as the taste of despair invaded his tongue, and this time, he recalled Cissa's hugs and Andy's affectionate smiles, but no, Cissa had graduated and had been too occupied with Lucius to spare anymore attention for Regulus who had been growing up and should've been able to stand on his own two feet, and Andy had regarded him with nothing but disappointment for him after he had joined the Death Eaters. "Ex- Expecto- Expecto Pat- Patronum."

Nothing. Goddamn. The Dementors continued advancing.

Well, time for Plan B.

"Come on," Regulus wheeled around, still holding onto Harry who had a pained frown on his face and his own wand raised. "What did I say about using magic? We're running!"

They flew down the darkened street, neither of them looking back as the Dementors' rattling breaths dogged their footsteps.

"We can't run forever!" Harry panted out as they rounded a corner, desperation etched on his face. "...Reg, I can hear my mum screaming, and- and Voldemort's voice back in the cemetery- I should conjure a Patronus; it'd be best-"

"No!" Regulus snarled, knowing how disastrous that could be. He cursed his own uselessness. _He_ was the adult here, not Harry! _He_ should be the one to think of something! _He_ was the one with the genius mind so-

Lunging forward, he released Harry's wrist and shoved the boy behind him, skidding both of them to a stop even as he twisted around and slashed his wand down and then to the side, firing off two spells consecutively. "Incendio! Carcerem Circum Aliquid Horribilem Convelo!"

The Dementors hit the barrier and plastered themselves against the shimmering purple prison that Regulus had erected even as a horrible screeching noise filled the air as the hooded figures writhed in the fiery hell that Regulus had created. But there was nowhere to run, no matter how many times the Dementors bashed themselves against the magical walls.

"Are they screaming?" Harry sounded shaken, though Regulus would take it as a good sign that there was no sympathy in the boy's expression. Not for these creatures.

"Yes," Regulus' throat felt as dry as the desert, and his wand hand was shaking from exertion. But already, the evening was returning to normal now that the Dementors had been contained. "Fire can hurt them; it's just that they can usually escape. Unlike this time. Wait, I should..."

He pointed his wand. "Abscondo. Silencio."

The entire prison, Dementors and fire and all, disappeared, and the noise abruptly cut out. "There, they'll burn to death, and the prison will disappear once it's empty. For now..."

Regulus raised his wand once more and began muttering under his breath, concentrating on forging the proper runes with his magic, carving them into the air and grounding them around the prison.

"What did that do?" Harry enquired when Regulus finally lowered his wand and exhaled a long breath three minutes later.

"This area's saturated with magic," Regulus explained wearily, wiping his brow and wanting nothing more than to lie down and rest. "The wards I just put up will hide that until it dissipates. It wouldn't do for anyone to try to pin something on you even though you didn't use your wand. And I added another ward so people will avoid this area for the next twelve hours. That should be enough time for all this to disappear without a trace. Just to be on the safe side though, I want you to stay in your relatives' house for at least the next twenty-four hours, clear?"

Harry nodded, brow creasing with worry when Regulus stumbled a little as he took a step forward. "Reg, are you alright?"

"Fine, that just took a lot out of me, and I wasn't at my full strength either," Regulus assured tiredly. "Come on, let's get you back home. That's enough excitement for one day."

Regulus wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and Apparated both of them to the corner of Privet Drive without so much as a whisper of sound.

"Should've done that sooner," He commented self-deprecatingly.

"You were really badly affected by those Dementors," Harry objected, keeping a supporting hand under Regulus' elbow as they headed down the street. "If anything, _I_ should've thought of Apparating. I just stood there while you protected me."

Regulus side-eyed him. Wonderful. He had suspected that the kid might have a bit of a hero complex.

"I'm the one who told you not to use magic, or I'm sure your Patronus would've driven them off," Regulus admonished, voice exhausted but adamant. "Besides, it's not your job to protect people; it's your job to be a teenager, to be a kid. It's the job of the adults around you to protect you but also to teach you how to fend for yourself one day. Right now though, well, if you continue rushing headlong into every dangerous situation like a thoughtless Gryffindor, you won't even live to see your majority. Didn't you tell me that the Sorting Hat said you could've been great in Slytherin? Use some of that Slytherin side of you to keep yourself alive. Don't be so hasty to stand and fight all the time. You'll die young if that's the only method you know how to use when you're flirting with danger."

Harry looked a bit wide-eyed behind his glasses, and for good reason too. Regulus didn't normally talk so much at any one time.

"...Adults don't usually help me," Harry confessed quietly. "I mean, you said the _Ministry_ sent Dementors after me. That's just insane. So me and my friends, we usually have to help ourselves."

Regulus sighed inaudibly, giving in to the odd urge to tousle Harry's hair. He remembered his own childhood. "Yeah, I know the feeling, kid. Still, I hope I've proven to be at least a little dependable, hm?"

Harry smiled at him then, earnest and a touch shy, respect glowing in his eyes, and Regulus couldn't help the bolt of fierce pride that surged in his chest at having that expression aimed at him. _No one_ had ever looked at him like that before, like Regulus Black was someone worth admiring, someone worth _something_, like he wasn't just a coward repressed by his mother or scum grovelling at the feet of the Dark Lord.

"Definitely," Harry was agreeing. Thanks, Reg."

Regulus inclined his head, hiding a smile as they reached Number 4. "Get inside, and remember, the farthest you go tomorrow is the yard. I'll see you the day after if nothing else happens."

"Alright," Harry promised, eyeing Reg critically. "You'll be okay?"

Reg was hard-pressed not to roll his eyes. "I'll be fine; I'm going straight home to sleep after this so the sooner you get inside, the sooner I can get some rest. Go on. Time for all little children to go to bed and all that."

Harry did roll his eyes at that but he acquiesced and headed up the front path, waving goodbye before slipping indoors.

Regulus swept back up the street, ducking into the shadows of the side of a house and waiting until he heard the telltale crack of Apparition, signalling Fletcher's return. The man had no doubt returned to the park, realized that Harry wasn't there anymore, and jumped straight back to Number 4 Privet Drive in the hopes that Harry had just gone back to his relatives' house instead of something worse.

Regulus sneered. He could almost feel Fletcher's relief from three houses down when Harry's window curtain peeled back and the teen peered outside, evidently looking for the source of the noise.

Regulus was tempted to curse Fletcher but held back if only because...

Well.

He Apparated away then, silent as a summer breeze, appearing again near Grimmauld Place and slipping inside through a back passageway without anyone noticing. He limped his way back to his rooms, staggered through the door of what could now be deemed 'his bedroom' after spending sixteen years in it, and then finally surrendered to the crushing fatigue that had weighed on him ever since he had dealt with the Dementors.

He dropped like a stone, collapsing on the ground as darkness swam into his vision, and a moment later, he heard a crack and Kreacher's fretful shriek of, "Master Regulus!"

"'m fine," Regulus slurred as Kreacher floated him onto his bed. "Over'xerted m'self, tha's'all. Jus' need some res'."

He felt Kreacher vanish his coat and shoes, and then tuck him into bed, and with a last "than's Kreacher", Regulus was out.

**VII.**

Harry paced the ground in front of the park bench restlessly, having already looked through all the runes he had memorized yesterday another four times before finally throwing the towel in.

Where was Reg? Had something happened? The man hadn't looked well after that Dementor attack; Harry knew he should've stuck around with Reg, even if it was just sitting on the curb until some of the colour had returned to the man's face. He hadn't said anything that day but the older wizard's glamours had faltered a little at the end, and Harry had managed to catch a glimpse of a thin, borderline gaunt, but inexplicably familiar face, along with a suggestion of black seeping into Reg's brown hair.

Harry had been eager to meet up with the man again today, but so far, Reg hadn't arrived yet. Of course, the man could just be busy, but the older wizard had never missed a day since they had started this arrangement five weeks ago.

More than that, a very important letter had arrived for Harry yesterday from Dumbledore, one that told – not asked of course; since when had his opinion ever mattered when people interfered in his life – him that 'some people' would be coming to escort him to a safer location on the sixth of August where his friends would be waiting for him.

It was lucky that Harry already knew all about the Order and the fact that everyone was holed up in Grimmauld Place or he probably would've blown a gasket when he got there about being kept in the dark for half the summer only to be toted off on someone else's say-so at the drop of a hat.

Of course, he didn't know where exactly Grimmauld Place was due to Reg not being the Secret Keeper (and he also had no idea why Reg wanted to keep his existence a secret but at the same time was also included in the secret of where Order Headquarters was despite the supposed fact that only Order members and a few others should know; how could someone be included in a secret yet still stay 'dead' to almost everyone in the world?).

Still, that wasn't the issue at hand at the moment. Harry very much wished he could write back and tell them 'thanks but no thanks' but he doubted that he'd have much say in the matter. So at the very least, he wanted to notify Reg about it and ask whether or not Harry could at least write to him from now on.

Because Harry didn't want to give up their summer afternoons. He was learning loads, and the only thing that could make it better would be if Harry could use his wand when Reg was teaching him. He also liked the company, and the banter, and honestly, why couldn't Dumbledore find someone like Reg to teach DADA instead of dark lords and frauds and Death Eaters every year?

Harry huffed in irritation, scowling at the ground and making sure not to let his gaze fall onto his Order guard for too long. Judging by the racket that had come from someone tripping over a hedge earlier on his way to the park, Harry guessed that it was Nymphadora Tonks tailing him again today. Ah well, better her than her mentor, who – as Reg had told him – would've probably noticed something off by now, so it was a good thing that Moody always took the graveyard shift when he was on rotation.

"I see you're as patient as ever," Someone remarked, and Harry whirled around, irritation evaporating like mist at high noon.

"Reg! Finally!" Harry breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that Reg didn't look as bad as he had two days ago, still a bit on the tired side but definitely better.

Or at least he was hiding it better but Harry hoped that wasn't the case.

He wanted to ask about Reg's health or whip out the letter right away but he wasn't _that_ stupid so he produced his own newspaper with a bit of an elegant flourish (on hindsight, he might be picking up a few of Reg's habits) and held it out in front of him.

"Crossword?" Harry proposed, and he was certain he heard a groan coming from Tonks' direction. If Reg's crooked smile was anything to go by, he had heard it too.

"Of course," Reg accepted graciously, and they took a seat at the bench.

Harry knew that Reg wouldn't be able to set up the wards today without Tonks noticing something since the older wizard typically arrived at the park first so Harry started by writing, _'How are you? You still look tired.'_ while voicing out loud, "One down is 'vilify' I think. Three across: the state or period of being a beginner in anything. Nine letters."

_'I'm fine,'_ Reg scribbled in the margins. _'I just need rest. What about you? You seem agitated today. Did something happen?'_

"'Novitiate'," Reg announced out loud as he wrote down the word. "Five down: proudly. Six letters, third letter is an 'e'."

Harry scratched his head and then bent down, pretending to list out words even as he wrote back, _'I got a letter from Dumbledore. He said some people will be coming to take me to a safer location two days from now on the sixth.'_

"I have no idea," Harry admitted, frowning at the six-lettered space.

"'Skeigh'," Reg answered, and not for the first time, Harry wondered if the man had read dictionaries for fun when he'd been a kid. "Four across: a water spirit, usually having the form of a horse. Six letters, first one's a 'k'."

_'Ah, I did hear something about that,' _Reg added on paper. _'You sound disappointed though. I thought you'd be happy to see your friends at least? And your godfather?'_

"'Kelpie'!" Harry said gleefully, feeling a little less dumb. Huh, Muggles did know some real creature lore after all. _'I do, of course I do; the last time I saw Sirius was through a fireplace, and before that, Hermione and I were saving him from getting his soul sucked out. I miss Ron and Hermione too. But I like spending time with you as well.'_

Harry paused and reddened when he reviewed the last sentence. _'Learning from you I mean, and the conversation's nice,'_ He tacked on, and Reg snorted. In retaliation, Harry picked a clue he didn't know. "Eight down: to elevate in degree, excellence, or respect; dignify; exalt. Seven letters."

Reg glanced at him with more than a little humour. _'I'm a pureblood, Harry. You should know better.'_

"'Ennoble'," Reg replied without missing a beat, and Harry grumbled wordlessly under his breath as the man wrote it down. _'I find our afternoons enjoyable as well, and you are easy to teach, especially since I have no teaching experience.'_

"Nine across: that cannot be doubted; patently evident or certain; unquestionable," Reg recited aloud. "Eleven letters."

Harry started mentally counting fingers even as he wrote, _'Can I owl you then? Keep in touch? I don't want to not be able to see you until next summer, and all my friends will think I've gone mental if I ask to go home over the winter hols.'_

"'Indubitable'," Harry proclaimed triumphantly, and Reg chuckled at his enthusiasm. "Nine down: voraciousness; appetite. Seven letters, second letter is a 'd'."

_'There is no need for owls, and I would not want you to send any in case they are intercepted.'_

Reg's paranoia was something Harry sometimes forgot, though he supposed the man did have a point. They were in a war now after all, whether or not Great Britain wanted it to be true. His eyes widened at the next words.

'_I have a gift for you,'_ Reg continued. _'Consider it a belated birthday present since I only brought you extra food on your actual birthday.'_

"'Edacity'," Reg answered promptly. "Twelve across: to explore caves, especially as... a... hobby..." Harry almost laughed at the consternation on the older wizard's face, clearly wondering why anyone would want to explore caves as a hobby. "Seven letters."

'_You didn't have to,'_ Harry hurriedly scrawled, but he had difficulty suppressing a delighted smile. "It's 'spelunk'."

Reg blinked owlishly at him. "That's a word?"

"Your encyclopedic brain has finally dried up?" Harry teased in return, snickering when Reg cuffed him gently over the head. "Twelve down: sharp or caustic in style, tone, etc. Ten letters, last letter's an 's'."

'_I want to,'_ Reg replied. _'Besides, it is a useful gift, you'll see. I'm afraid I'll have to slip you the package, and you'll have to open it later in your room though. Nymphadora might get suspicious otherwise. Old men like me honestly shouldn't spend so much time with children.'_

"'Mordacious'," Reg answered while Harry stared in bafflement at the last sentence before rolling his eyes hard enough to nearly strain himself. "Seven down: out of the depths (of sorrow, despair, etc.). Two words, two letters and then nine letters."

Harry elbowed him aside. _'That's just stupid. I know you're not like __that__. Anyone with eyes would know. Besides, you're not that old, and I'm already fifteen.'_

'_The height of maturity,'_ Harry could almost hear Reg's sarcastic drawl.

Harry knocked his shoulder against the man's arm, smothering a reluctant grin. "I don't know that one."

"'De profundis'," Reg told him. "It's a Latin translation, from the opening of Psalm 130. The beginning goes something like 'de profundis clamavi ad te, Domine', which translates to 'out of the depths, I have cried out to you, O Lord', although these days, it's used as a phrase to convey sorrow."

Harry stared. Reg shrugged. "It was a phase I had back when I was about fourteen. And you'd be surprised – some religions are quite closely related to certain studies."

Oh. So religion was related to magic. No surprise there, considering the witch hunts.

"So, next," Reg carried on, tapping his pencil against the paper. "Eight across: shade; shadow. Five letters, first letter's a 'u'."

_'There is something else,'_ Reg added silently. _'It is very likely that once you reach Grimmauld Place, you will find out who I am.'_ Harry almost gaped._ 'The person who will tell you about me will not have very nice things to say, and I do not blame him for it. He has no idea I survived, and no idea that I had left the Dark Lord's service even before I had 'died'._

_ 'If you still wish to maintain contact afterwards,'_ Reg continued. _'Then of course, I will be pleased. However, should you not wish to, then I can only ask that you keep silent when it comes to my existence.'_

Harry shot him a dirty look and jotted down grumpily, _'You're an idiot. I don't care who tells me what; you're my friend and I'm not going to get spooked away or whatever you're worried about just because someone says something bad about you. I already know you were a Death Eater, that you probably had to do some pretty horrible things, and if I can accept __that__, then I can accept anything. Short of you turning out to be the love child of Dumbledore and Snape or something of course.'_

Reg choked and turned green around the edges, Harry cracked up, and they both dissolved into helpless laughter, Reg significantly more dignified than him though as Harry tumbled off the bench, wheezing as his brain summoned up some very nasty illustrations.

"You are a very sick-minded child," Reg concluded, taking a deep breath before reaching down to haul Harry back onto the bench. "Brat. Focus on the crossword."

"'Umber'," Harry gasped, taking his glasses off to brush the unbidden tears from his eyes as he finally settled down again. "The word's 'umber'."

"At least your higher mental faculties still seem to be working in spite of all evidence indicating otherwise," Reg groused.

Harry tipped his head back, glancing up at the blue sky with a smile before leaning in again.

They spent the rest of the afternoon doing crosswords, foregoing homework for the day.

And Harry wished – wistfully, futilely – that all the years of his life could've been and could be as carefree as this summer had been.

**VIII.**

It was a pocket watch, and it was beautifully crafted. The cover was silver laced with blood red garnet (Harry had the feeling that Reg just couldn't bring himself to go with Gryffindor bright red and gold so had chosen something close instead; Harry was glad because carrying around something coloured a gaudy gold was not a nice thought) and had the initials 'H.J.P.' engraved into it as part of the intricate forest design. To finish it off, miniature figures of a stag, a doe, a dog, and a wolf took up positions around his initials, all poised as if standing sentinel for him.

The inside was even better. At first glance, it told the time and direction, and it did, the black roman numerals etched into the face as the clock hands ticked away, as well as a compass at its center. But the letter that Reg had attached explained the additional functions.

_Harry,_

_ As you have probably already seen, I have given you a pocket watch. I hope the design is to your liking; there is none other like it since it is handmade by a master metalsmith who finished it only a week ago. The watch is nigh unbreakable, waterproof, fireproof, spell-proof, and almost entirely buffoon-proof (I say almost because the stupidity of the human race still manages to surprise me to this day so someone out there might just be able to come up with a way to accidentally break it)._

_The gift is perhaps somewhat old-fashioned, especially for a fifteen-year-old teenager, but it does not only tell the time and guide you home should you ever find yourself lost. While the metalsmith forged the watch, I was the one who did the spellwork. I am sure you will have felt a tingle when you opened it, which is a good thing because the watch has absorbed a spark of your magic and now recognizes you as its sole owner, and it will let no other person open it._

_Secondly, excluding the clock and compass, there are three other settings in this timepiece. Simply click the crown of the watch to change it._

_If you have done so once, then you will have noticed the mirror that has taken the place of the clock and compass. This is a two-way mirror, and this is how you can contact me at any time. I have a matching watch in my possession, and I have already worked in the runes needed to connect the two. This setting is based on a set of mirrors I have come across before in the possession of my family, though I no longer have any idea where they are anymore. However, those required the person to say the recipient's name out loud, not particularly smart if you're trying to contact someone for help while hiding from an enemy, and you are without your wand to even silence your surroundings. For this mirror, simply look into it and think of me, and if I answer, then it should project my face into the air above the watch so that you will have no need to squint into the mirror._

_In addition, should you ever wish to communicate with someone else, I will need to carve the correct runes into whatever device they pick out, so if you ever feel the wish to include your friends, I will be happy to send you a few extra watches with the accurate runes inscribed into them, though you will forgive me if I do not make them as fancy as the one you have._

_Switch to the next setting now. This is perhaps the setting I am most proud of. You will have noticed that the mirror is gone, leaving a panel with four keyholes. Worry not; they do not need keys. Press your finger against them and they will open for you. Again, they will only open for you and no one else._

_As it is, these four keyholes lead to four compartments, each enhanced with a permanent Invisible Extension Charm. The first is for all intents and purposes a library that will store up to five hundred books, though only one shelf will appear above the watch at a time, and you will be able to organize your books in any way you want. If you wish to recall a book, simply think of the title and it will appear in the shelf (do remember to either be holding on to the watch or touching the shelf when you do so). For this particular compartment, I have already added a collection of my own books that you may keep. I guarantee you will find them useful._

_Moving on, behind the second keyhole is a potions cabinet __large enough to store up to one hundred standard vials_, and already filled with a variety of potions you may need to one day save your life (or – knowing you – someone else's life). For now, there are twenty potions stored inside, everything from Polyjuice to Blood-Replenishing Potions to Essence of Dittany. I understand that some of these potions are beyond you at the moment but do keep in mind that you should keep your stores stocked as much as possible at all times.

_The third keyhole contains a wardrobe. I hope I do not overstep my bounds by saying this but your current clothes do not befit your station. I have given you an overview about the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, and it just won't do if you have nothing to wear but those Muggle hand-me-downs and your school robes. Thus, I have taken the liberty of adding to your wardrobe several sets of clothing, both Muggle (since you insist) and pureblood apparels. Rest assured, they are not too flamboyant, and will not openly flaunt your wealth when you wear them. Again, the closet will come out to float above the timepiece when you press the keyhole._

_The last keyhole is empty, but it has enough storage space to put everything short of a hippogriff into it. It is self-organizing as well so your belongings will not end up tumbling over each other once you place them inside. To withdraw something, again, press the keyhole, think of the item, and it will appear._

_Lastly, the remaining setting, now depicting a lion, is an emergency password-activated portkey. Obviously, it is an unauthorized portkey, but making one is the least of my crimes. You have heard of Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey Wards, etc? This portkey will bypass them all, essentially ripping a hole through them in the process, and will take you to the closest safe location that the portkey can pinpoint by dropping you off somewhere where no ill-intent is nearby. It is one-use only, and even I had to spend two weeks making it, so use it wisely, and only in the direst of situations to make your escape. To set the password, place your hand on the lion, and say the word or phrase you wish to use. The lion should flash gold once you remove your hand, and the password will be set. To trigger it, move the watch to this setting and the entire timepiece will become a portkey. Once you recite the password, it will activate._

_Perhaps now you wish to know why I have personally created something like this for you when we have really only known each other for five weeks. Truthfully, I myself do not fully comprehend the reason, though – as I have said at the beginning of our acquaintance – part of why I am choosing to protect you is because of our mutual acquaintance, a relation that you will understand once you reach Order Headquarters._

_You are entering a war, Harry, and while I am firmly of the opinion that children should not have to fight, should not even have to see bloodshed, you do not have that luxury. You are the Boy-Who-Lived, and there are people who will want to kill you, people who will want you to save them, people who expect you to fight._

_I give this pocket watch to you in the hopes that it will help, the clock to better your time management when it comes to your schoolwork, the additions to assist you in times of tribulation, and the compass to remind you always that you should walk your own path, pursue your own ideals, and follow what you believe to be right even if the entire world stands against you._

_R.A.B._

_P.S. The Gryffindor tendencies for melodramatic speeches that you undoubtedly possess seem to be contagious as I appear to have contracted them. Show this letter to anyone and the Dark Lord will be the least of your worries._

Harry snorted with laughter at the ending that effectively ruined the mood, which was probably Reg's goal. The older wizard's Slytherin side always seemed miffed to be sharing body space with a Gryffindor side because Harry didn't care what anybody said; Reg definitely had some Gryffindor in him. Only a Gryffindor would've stood up to those Dementors just to protect Harry from both those creatures and trouble with the Ministry.

He carefully folded up the letter and slipped it into the cover of a Defence text before putting it back into the priceless watch. He still couldn't believe Reg had actually gone to the effort of creating something so complex. Harry would be damned if he allowed anything to happen to it. He'd keep it with him at all times, and Reg was right; with the war going on, one never knew when he might need a quick escape.

He flopped back onto his bed, fingers running down the delicate-looking but definitely resilient silver chain attached to the watch.

Definitely more useful than the candy Ron had sent or the books on improving one's study habits from Hermione, though he was grateful that they had remembered his birthday and had been able to send something at all what with all of them being shut up in Grimmauld Place.

Sitting up again, Harry flicked to the library setting and grabbed the first book on runes. Might as well continue his studies; when he called Reg on the mirror the next time, he wanted to at least have a list of questions on things he hadn't understood ready to discuss with the wizard.

And his thanks for the watch of course. There were no words for the amount of time and energy that Reg must've put into it but Harry would attempt it anyway.

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**Please leave a review on your way out.**

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**Carcerem Circum Aliquid Horribilem Convelo – I wrap a prison around something horrible  
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**Abscondo – hide, conceal, cover, shroud**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter.**

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**General Warnings:** AU, language, violence, not dead!Regulus, Harry-gets-a-secret-second-godfather... sort-of

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**Chapter 2**

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**IX.**

"HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless, but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you-"

"Let him breathe, Hermione," Came Ron's voice, and Harry was relieved when Hermione's rapid-fire babbling stopped, and she let go of him at last. He surreptitiously rolled his shoulders and offered a genuine smile back as Ron – who seemed to have grown several more inches during their month apart, making him taller and more gangly looking than ever, though the long nose, bright red hair and freckles were the same – joined them, closing the door behind Harry.

"Like I said, we've got so much to tell you!" Hermione continued breathlessly, exchanging glances with Ron. "And I'm sorry we haven't been very informative about anything but Dumbledore said that it would be best if we didn't."

"I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles," Ron followed up just a touch nervously.

_Yeah,_ Harry thought rather sarcastically, and in his mind, he could almost hear Reg echoing his words in that sardonic deadpan drawl that the older wizard seemed to have raised to an art form. _Real safe, if you don't count the Dementors who decided to take a vacation in Little Whinging._

Harry felt an inexplicable urge to snicker. Probably not the best thing to do in front of Ron and Hermione.

"It's fine," He said out loud instead, strolling forward with his trunk towards the empty bed. "This one's mine, right? Are you sharing with Ginny then, Hermione?"

"Er, yes," Hermione sounded taken aback. "Um, so about the lack of information...?"

"Dumbledore's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time," Ron jumped in as if that would appease Harry (which would've done exactly the opposite if Harry hadn't already known about all this). "To keep you safe, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Harry confirmed, and this time, he could imagine Reg berating him for giving even that away. The older wizard had always been the keep-cards-close-to-your-chest type of person but Harry couldn't see the harm in letting his friends know that he – or rather Reg but he wasn't going to say anything about that – had been perceptive enough to pick out the various Order members that had been following him. And if it spread to everyone else, that was probably best, if only because they seriously needed to fix that problem of concealing where they were hiding when they weren't standing on flat ground, or they were going to get themselves killed one of these days.

"You know?" Hermione looked skeptical now, and Harry felt a twinge of annoyance.

"Yes, I know," Harry sighed. "They're not exactly subtle, are they? I figured they were there to guard me since they didn't try to kill me."

He waved a hand dismissively before reaching over to unlock Hedwig's cage. Hedwig swooped out, gliding once around the room before landing on top of the wardrobe in the corner. She could fly around here however much she pleased. "Nevermind; look, why don't you give me a rundown on what's been going on and what this Order of the Cooked Ostrich is?"

Both his friends goggled at him, and Harry smothered a smirk. He had picked up that particular habit of poking fun at the Order's name from Reg. Once, they had spent an entire hour coming up with different variations, and Reg had looked positively schoolboy gleeful through every single minute of it.

"Don't be rude, Harry," Hermione lectured. "It's the 'Order of the Phoenix', and it's a very important organization led by Dumbledore who founded it. It's a secret society of people who fought against You-Know-Who last time."

"This is its headquarters," Ron tacked on. "They hold the meetings here and everything."

"Not that we're allowed into them or anything," Hermione hastily assured. "Mostly, we've just been decontaminating this house, it's been empty for ages and stuff's been breeding in here. We've managed to clean out the kitchen, most of the bedrooms and I think we're doing the drawing room tomo- AARGH!"

With two loud cracks, Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers, had materialised out of thin air in the middle of the room, setting off Pigwidgeon who twittered more wildly than ever before zooming off to join Hedwig on top of the wardrobe. As the two older teens turned to face him, Harry finally cracked a more genuine grin. Ah, this was much more interesting than listening to Hermione and Ron's not-overview of what had been happening around this place.

"Fred, George," Harry greeted. "You two passed your Apparation tests then?"

"Hello, Harry!" They chorused, beaming at him.

"With distinction," Fred confirmed. For some reason, he was holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh-coloured string.

"It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs," Ron huffed.

"Time is Galleons, little brother," Fred said, winking none-too-subtly at Harry as George did the same.

Harry rolled his eyes. Could they be any more obvious?

"You should try getting rid of that crack sound," He advised instead. "What if you wanted to sneak up on someone? The whole world would know you were coming if you Apparate in like that."

"Harry!" Hermione scolded indignantly. "That's even worse! They'll give us all heart failure! Don't encourage them!"

The twins just laughed, and George slung an arm around Harry's shoulders as he plopped down on the bed beside him.

"We'll see what we can do," George promised appreciatively. "Can't have the entire world know we're coming when we want to prank someone after all."

Fred nodded agreeably but stood back and eyed Harry somewhat thoughtfully. "You look different, Harry."

Harry blinked, and then glanced down at himself. He was wearing a Muggle attire, but for the first time in his _life_, the clothes actually fit, and he had on new jeans and a crisp white shirt with a casual light grey zip-up hoodie thrown over it.

"Thanks," Harry quirked a smile. "I got new clothes this summer."

Not a lie, not even an omission of the truth, really. One of Reg's life lessons was: _the best lie is a vague truth. Never get caught in an outright lie because you won't be able to take it back. Instead, stick to the truth but don't go into too much detail. Most humans make their own assumptions to fill in any blanks you leave. Let them. When it suits you anyway._

But Fred was shaking his head. "Nah, I don't mean the clothes, though the sizes fit you much better now. But there's something about you this year..." The redhead scrutinized him for a moment longer. "I don't know; healthier definitely. More grown up too I think. Either way, you look good."

Harry tilted his head, and then said with a perfectly straight face, "Sorry Fred, but I don't swing that way." He placed a hand against his chest and batted his eyes dramatically as a teasing smirk curled his lips. "You flatter me though."

A stunned heartbeat later, both twins roared with laughter while Ron's face flamed red as he gawked at Harry, and Hermione pinked with embarrassment as well.

Harry himself reddened just a bit, still not used to offering his own verbal quips, but Reg had told him that a good, oftentimes humorous follow-up would always gain him more allies and put people more at ease than staying silent or shying away or getting angry would, especially in Gryffindor, and this year at Hogwarts, what with potentially at least three-quarters of the school shunning him _again_ because he was a liar or insane or whatever else they wanted to believe, Harry would need all the allies he could get. Might as well get some practice in now.

"Our little Harrykins is growing up!" Fred wiped a fake tear from his eye even as he grinned at Harry with approval.

"Learning to flirt and everything," George agreed, ruffling Harry's hair so that it stuck up even more afterwards. "He'll be fending off boys and girls left and right! I'm so proud!"

"Ah, but he doesn't bat for the other team, George," Fred reminded him before staggering back and affecting a wounded stance. "Woe is me! The Boy-Who-Lived turned me down!"

The twins cracked up again, and Harry joined in, the room ringing with laughter until Hermione's flustered voice cut them off abruptly.

"Harry Potter, what's gotten into you today?" The brunette had her hands on her hips and was peering at Harry suspiciously. Harry's laughter died as he turned to frown at her.

"You're not acting yourself," Hermione summarized. "Is this how you've been dealing with your guilt? You're going about it the wrong way. Oh I knew something was wrong when your letters stopped coming!"

Harry blinked at the room at large with complete bafflement, and managed an intelligent, "Huh?"

(_"'I beg your pardon', not 'huh'," Reg reprimanded._)

"You haven't been writing to us," Hermione explained. "You've been wallowing in misplaced guilt, haven't you? And now you're dealing with it all the wrong way! You should've talked to us about this stuff, Harry!"

Harry's eyebrows were rising higher and higher with every word. He glanced over at Ron who shrugged and stayed silent, giving Harry a look that said 'just agree with her, mate'. He looked to the twins who rolled their eyes at the same time.

"Dealing with what exactly?" Harry asked, still confused as he turned back to Hermione once more.

"Cedric and the graveyard!" Hermione clarified impatiently. "Don't pretend not to know, Harry! It's not healthy to just ignore the issue!"

Harry frowned again, feeling a faint ache of sorrow in his chest at the thought of Cedric but otherwise alright. "Hermione, I thought we cleared this up weeks ago. I worked through that already, I'm fine. I'm sure I told you that in at least two of my letters."

"Of course you're not fine," Hermione said confidently only to be interrupted by Fred.

"Hermione, look at him," The twin gestured at Harry. "Out of all the times we've seen him after he came back from the Dursleys, has he ever looked as fine as he is now?"

"That's because he's repressing everything," Hermione scowled at Fred. "He can't heal if he doesn't talk about it! _You've_ been telling us to leave him alone all summer!"

Harry glanced at him, startled, but Fred – uncharacteristically enough – flashed a sharp quicksilver glare of his own in Hermione's direction before his expression cleared and he shook his head.

"No, I told you two to stop nagging him," Fred corrected, wiggling the fleshy bit of string he had been holding in the air as he looked at Harry. "We've been listening in on Order meetings using these, Harry-"

"-Extendable Ears," George interjected smoothly. "Great for eavesdropping-"

"-and we've learned quite a bit," Fred picked up. "Like the fact that some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them and such-"

"-amongst other things," George nodded. "And we've heard you've made a friend-"

"-who does crossword puzzles with you-"

"-and teaches you French and whatnot-"

"-which we wouldn't mind learning ourselves when it comes to the swearwords, Harry; keep that in mind for if you're ever in a teaching mood-"

"-but most of all," George finished. "We've heard that your Muggle friend's been good for you. And clearly, he has. Which is why Fred and I told those two not to fret or bombard you with demands to 'talk' since you've obviously found a way of your own to deal with your problems."

Harry nodded slowly. "I see."

"Which is completely untrue!" Hermione dove in hotly, crossing her arms. "He's a Muggle! There's nothing wrong with that of course but what would he know about what Harry went through?"

"And what would you know about it?" Harry cut in at last, leveling an even stare on Hermione who faltered a bit in the face of his intent gaze. "You weren't there, Hermione. Neither was Ron."

Hermione flushed, and Ron frowned, but she forged on stubbornly. "No, but we know about it, and we're from the same world, and we're your friends!"

"He's my friend too," Harry pointed out.

"He's a grown man!" Hermione argued crossly.

Harry threw his hands into the air. "What has that got to do with anything? I can't be friends with adults now?"

"That's not it," Hermione looked utterly frustrated. "But how do you know he's not just using you or something?"

Harry stilled under George's arm, and the twin in question glanced at him, raised his eyebrows briefly, and then carefully withdrew, scooting away from Harry by about half a foot with an expression of amusement on his face. Harry barely noticed.

"I beg your pardon?" He said stiffly, something hot and fierce surging up in his gut, simmering protectively as it laid in wait for its prey. "I'm not quite sure what you're trying to imply."

"I mean," Hermione's voice bordered on disdainful reproach. "He could just be trying to get close to you to... _you know_. There are stories in the papers about that kind of thing happening all the time, Harry. You can't be so naive about it."

Harry swallowed, trying to steady his Occlumency shields as his temper threatened to get the better of him. "Hermione, I think you should stop while you're ahead. I know Reg; he'd never do something like that. So I'm telling you now; don't continue insulting him like you know everything, especially not to my face."

Hermione glared, pulling herself up to her full height. "You're going to have to see sense sometime, Harry. You're just not seeing it because you're so focused on pretending you don't feel guilty about Cedric. It's good that you're back with us now; there's no telling what that man would've done to you given even just a few more weeks. You should take this experience as a lesson to be more wary of child molesters-"

Hermione half-yelped, half-screamed when the entire room erupted with activity, and Ron leapt to his feet with a shocked shout.

The windows shattered. The lamp on the bedside table exploded. And every leg of the desk across the room snapped, the entire thing collapsing in on itself without its support. Both Hedwig and Pigwidgeon hooted agitatedly from their perch though they were smart enough to stay atop the wardrobe.

A long silence followed. Fred brushed an invisible speck of dust off his robes. George lounged back even further against the foot of the bed.

Harry stood up, and Hermione actually took a step back, eyes wide.

"You've never even met him," Harry said quietly, reigning in his anger even as he let it hone his voice into icy steel. "Don't talk about him like that. What's wrong with you, Hermione?"

"What's wrong with me?! What's wrong with _you_?!" Hermione retorted somewhat shrilly. "No letters-"

"_Less_ letters," Harry corrected. "I still wrote."

"-and you stopped talking to us and you don't tell us anything-" Hermione charged on heedlessly.

"It's not like you tell me anything either," Harry countered. "Why should I tell you every little detail of my life? It's _my life_, Hermione. I don't need people looking over my shoulder to monitor every one of my actions and tell me whether or not I can do them."

"-and it's not _good_ for you, Harry," Hermione insisted obstinately, completely disregarding everything he had just said.

"I'll decide what's good for me, thank you," Harry returned firmly. "And right now, I've decided that the best thing for all of us is for me to leave this room before either of us says or does something we'll regret."

And without another word, Harry shouldered his way past Hermione and Ron, bypassing Fred as well, and ducked out of the bedroom.

Or tried to anyway. When he opened the door, he almost ran headlong into Ron's sister, who had undoubtedly been eavesdropping.

Ginny took on a sheepish look. "Hi, Harry. I heard you had arrived."

"Hey, Ginny," Harry greeted, absently thinking that it was a good step up that she wasn't turning red or stuttering in his presence anymore. "Do you know if the meeting's out yet?"

Ginny shook her head. "Not quite. Looking forward to seeing Sirius?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, and then paused. "You've all been living with him for the past few weeks?"

"Yes," Ginny eyed him speculatively for a second. "We know he's innocent and everything of course. He can be a bit temperamental but he's still pretty fun to be around."

"Oh," Harry ignored the hollow pang in his chest.

(_"I'll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle. But... well... think about it. Once my name's cleared... if you wanted a... a different home..."_)

It didn't matter, Harry told himself sternly. Ron and Hermione and all the others hadn't really been _living_ _with_ Sirius; they'd just all been living in the same house together.

Which was different.

Once Sirius' name was cleared, then Harry could move in with his godfather to live with him. Sirius had promised after all. There was no reason for him to feel even the slightest bit betrayed that Sirius had been living it up here with his friends and not Harry.

He shook the bitter thoughts out of his head. That was stupid; he was here now. Besides, if he had come to Grimmauld earlier, he might not have met Reg, and Harry really wouldn't want to give that up for anything.

"Right, well," Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I should-"

"-watch us do magic," Fred suggested, lazily flicking his wand at the windows with a muttered "Reparo."

"You can sit by the door if you want," George said cheerfully as if Harry hadn't just blown up half the room. The older teen also had his wand raised, swishing it at the lamp as Fred started on the desk. "We've got a little more news than just what the Order's been up to."

Harry sighed but after glancing at Hermione who looked willing enough to hold her tongue for now, and at Ron, who still seemed somewhat uncomfortable with all the tension in the room, and then at Ginny who was looking expectantly at him, he nodded once and slid down onto the ground to lean against the wall. Ginny promptly secured a chair for herself, and they all settled down for the time being.

"So let's see, what's new?" George mused, and then his expression turned ugly. "Oh yeah, wanna hear about Percy?"

**X.**

Sirius was happy, and seeing as he wasn't happy very much nowadays, he definitely wanted to stay happy for as long as possible.

Which shouldn't be hard because! Because his godson was here, right at this very moment, somewhere in the house. Of course, Sirius had wanted to go pick Harry up along with Moony and the others but he was an escaped convict (who had never actually had a trial and thus had never been officially convicted) so Dumbledore had said that he had to stay put.

Still, Harry was here in Grimmauld Place right this instant, and Sirius was...

...not so happy because he was stuck in yet another meeting.

He had tuned everyone out ages ago, mostly because they were simply going over the same precautions that they had been for the past several _weeks_, and of course, _Snape's _report (that bastard never could shut up about how he was doing _so_ much more work than Sirius), as well as the same questions of 'have you captured any Death Eaters yet' (of _course_ not), and 'who's turn is it for guard duty' (_never_ Sirius), and 'what's the latest news on the Ministry' (they're _still_ a bunch of bumbling fools without even a snowball's chance in hell of fighting off Voldemort once the snake bastard finally decides to surface), and 'Potter's spending an awful lot of time with some Muggle doing crossword puzzles in the park' (which just... what the bloody _hell?_).

It was that last one that Sirius ever took any major interest in, mostly because he couldn't understand why Harry wanted to spend time with some Muggle every day doing _crossword puzzles_ instead of – for example – writing more letters to his friends.

And to Sirius of course.

Granted, neither he nor Harry's friends had been all that forthcoming with information (at all), as per Dumbledore's orders, and Harry had every right to be livid with them, but did that really mean that the kid had to go and make friends with some random Muggle and forget about them? Ever since Tonks had first come back telling them about a brown-haired thirty-something-year-old bloke defending Harry from a bunch of bullies, Sirius had been thankful at first that there was still some decent folk out there, but then...

But then the Order guards had started returning with news of a fast-forming friendship between Sirius' godson and that Muggle, and letters from Harry had slowly begun petering out. Before that first week of July, letters from Harry had come every two days, as fast as Hedwig had been able to deliver them, and while Sirius had felt somewhat guilty for not being able to write anything more than 'keep your head down', and 'how are you feeling today', and other things that had nothing to do with any of the questions that Harry had wanted answers to, he had still looked forward to at least receiving letters from his godson.

And then Harry had met that Muggle man (and for some reason, all the guards had missed the bloke's name for five weeks straight until two days ago when Tonks had swept back in and told them that Harry had called him 'Reg'), and the letters dwindled from one every two days to one per week, and then they'd stopped almost completely at the beginning of the fourth week of July until Harry had sent a short thank-you note on his birthday to Sirius, Ron, Hermione, and the twins for the presents they had sent.

That was it. Even the content in each letter had been condensed to a few sentences at most, and they were usually about inane things like 'this summer's getting hotter' and 'I've finished my homework' and 'hope you're doing well' because Harry had stopped asking questions about _anything _entirely.

And still the accounts had come in from the Order members, each 'Potter guard' who had taken the afternoon shift for the day returning with a bemused smile and a story about Harry's latest crossword puzzle. Hestia had taken to copying down all the clues just so she could solve them later in her free time.

Of course, it wasn't _just_ crosswords. Apparently, the Muggle was fluent in French (Sirius was too! _He_ could teach Harry!) and had been teaching Harry a variety of words and phrases, as well as a slew of swearwords because one could insult someone in that language and still make it sound as smooth as a compliment if the person they were cursing out didn't know French.

However, all this just accumulated into the simple fact that Sirius was sort of – kind of, _very_ – jealous.

Of a Muggle.

Not that he had anything against Muggles, and this Reg fellow was apparently good at making Harry laugh, and if the Order guards were to be believed, Harry no longer looked as guilty or sad or like death had warmed over after one of his nightmares. In fact, the nightmares seemed to have lessened or stopped altogether since Mad-Eye and Kingsley – who usually took the night shifts – had said that they could no longer hear Harry crying out in his sleep.

Which were all very good things. Reg was clearly a good influence on Harry.

That didn't stop Sirius from feeling jealous. If anything, it just made it worse, which had the simultaneous effect of making himself feel a bit like scum for wanting to deny Harry that influence.

It wasn't as if he didn't want Harry to feel better; he _did_! Sirius just wanted to be the one in that Muggle's place. He had already failed James and Lily once when it came to their lives and their son. He just wanted to do _something_ to try and make up for that.

Instead, he was stuck in his hated childhood home and _cleaning_. Because that wretched Kreacher couldn't be bothered to, and Sirius would rather have that elf out of sight than _in_ sight and offending everyone just by opening his mouth.

But! Harry was here, finally, and Sirius could start spending some time with his godson at last.

Which would happen a lot sooner if this meeting would pick up its pace. Molly had gone out and come back with the others but hadn't said anything since Snape had started on his spiel about something or other.

"I believe we can wrap things up for today," Dumbledore announced at last, and Sirius blew out a gusty breath as everyone began packing up. Finally!

"Will you be wanting to see Harry first, Albus?" Molly enquired as she rolled up her sleeves, no doubt ready to go put the last finishing touches on dinner.

"No, I think it would be best for me to be on my way," Dumbledore looked over at Sirius, blue eyes twinkling. "I'm sure Harry would like to have some time with Sirius."

Sirius stared back stoically, not reacting.

"Be sure not to tell Harry more than he needs to know," Dumbledore cautioned them all before departing. "We don't want to burden the boy more than absolutely necessary."

Sirius was on his feet before Dumbledore had reached the front door, already rushing for the stairs.

"Finally able to do something useful, Black?" Snape sneered as Sirius brushed past him. "Then again, pampering that spoiled useless brat is the only thing you know how to do."

Sirius paused at the foot of the staircase, and for once, the thought of his godson delayed his typical anger towards the greasy git. He snorted instead and headed up, tossing back, "Out of everything you've ever said, Snivellus, your opinion on my godson is by far the most insignificant, and considering the fact that I have _never_ cared about anything you have ever had to say in my entire life, that's really something. Can't say I'm too surprised though. _Everyone_ knows you hate _Lily's son_, after all."

Sirius didn't need to look back to know that the overgrown bat had flinched.

He smiled, vindictively pleased. Point to him.

"Sirius!"

Snape was instantly forgotten as Sirius' attention was drawn to the top of the stairs where his godson was standing, so much like James yet that was Lily's smile, and it brought a grin to Sirius' own face as he bounded up the rest of the steps.

"Harry!" He felt awkward for just a moment as he swept the boy – _fifteen years old, all grown up; Sirius had missed so much_ – up in a crushing hug, but Harry returned it after only a startled second's hesitation, and the awkwardness faded as Sirius pulled back to study the kid. "How's my favourite godson?"

Harry rolled his eyes, and Sirius was delighted to see the healthy flush in the boy's cheeks, teenage frame a little more filled out and a bit taller, and wearing clothes that actually fit. From what he had been able to glimpse back in third year, Harry usually wore oversized hand-me-downs under his school robes.

"I'm your only godson, Sirius," Harry told him in an exasperated tone, but when Sirius met his eyes – _Lily's eyes_ – Harry jerked back, surprise flitting across his face.

"Harry?" Sirius prodded, somewhat puzzled by the reaction. "Something wrong?"

"...You have grey eyes," Harry said in a dazed tone.

Sirius frowned, befuddled. "Yeess, I do. Are my grey eyes somehow noteworthy?"

"No, no," Harry assured, though he still looked distracted. "I just- never noticed before. Nevermind. How have you been? Was this really your house when you were a kid? What is _with_ the house-elf heads mounted on the walls?"

Sirius couldn't help it. He barked out a laugh at his godson's incredulous tone and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. He had thought Harry would be a bit more reticent like he recalled him to be in the kid's third and fourth years but Harry's sense of humour and overall contentment were shining through, and it was contagious despite the fact that they were on the topic of his parents' house.

"We have dinner now," Sirius told Harry, not paying much attention to the other kids trailing behind them as they headed back down the stairs. "And it's pretty late. But tomorrow, I'll give you a tour if you want, not that there's much to see, and we can have some good old godfather-godson bonding time, alright?"

Harry blinked up at him, and then his shoulders loosened up just a touch from the slightly tense line that they had been held at. Sirius hadn't even noticed the kid's nervousness until Harry had relaxed.

"Yeah, sure," Harry smiled, and Sirius figured that his summer was finally looking up.

Two hours, one screaming portrait of his damned mother, and one dinner later, Sirius changed his mind.

"He has a right to know what's been going on!" Sirius bellowed.

"He is far too young!" Molly screeched back.

"Hang on!" George interrupted loudly.

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" Fred demanded angrily.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month-"

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing," Sirius growled tersely. "That's your parents' decision. Harry on the other hand-"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" Molly bulldozed over him, face nearly as red as her hair. "Dumbledore said not to tell Harry more than he _needs to know_!"

"I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly," Sirius bit out. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his godson looking highly unimpressed with everything going on around him, and a second later, the kid actually pulled out a book and proceeded to read it, ignoring the argument happening over his head entirely. Just..._ what_? "But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back, he has more right than most-"

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" Molly snapped. "He's only fifteen and-"

"And he's dealt with as much as most in the Order," Sirius insisted. "And more than some."

"No one's denying what he's done!" Molly shrilled, her voice rising even more as her fists trembled on the arms of her chair. "But he's still-"

"He's not a child!" Sirius barked impatiently, pushing back the regret that came with this statement. Harry _wasn't_ a mere child, no matter how much Sirius wished otherwise.

"He's not an adult either!" Molly snarled back, the red in her face turning almost blotchy. "He's not James, Sirius!"

In his peripheral vision, Sirius saw Harry stiffen, head still bent over his book but body becoming unnaturally motionless, and Sirius' next words pitched low and cold with instantaneous fury. How dare this woman-

"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly," Sirius said icily. Around him, at the fringes of his senses, he could feel the magic in the Black home respond, rustling maliciously as it pawed hungrily in the wings, waiting eagerly for Sirius to forcibly expel the offending party from the house.

Sirius took a deep breath.

Molly didn't seem to notice his increasing ire, or at least she chose not to notice. "I'm not sure you are! Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back! Harry is not his father, however much he might look like him! He is still at school, and adults responsible for him should not forget it!"

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?" Sirius hissed, so incensed at this point that he could've broken something through sheer will alone.

"Meaning you have been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and-"

"We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!" Sirius spat out.

"Arthur!" Molly rounded on her husband, and Sirius mentally sneered. "Arthur, back me up!"

Arthur remained silent for a moment, taking off his glasses and cleaning them slowly on his robes, not looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them carefully on his nose did he reply. "Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in, to a certain extent, now that he is staying at Headquarters."

Sirius rolled his eyes. In other words, Arthur had reiterated Dumbledore's words and hadn't taken a position on either side of the argument. Then again, as far as Sirius could tell, the Headmaster didn't want Harry to know anything no matter what that twinkly-eyed senile old man said.

"Yes, but there's a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes!"

"Personally," Remus said quietly, ever the appeaser, and Molly turned quickly to him, hopeful that finally she was about to get an ally. Sirius' jaw tightened at the unfairness of it all. "I think it better that Harry gets the facts – not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture – from us, rather than a garbled version from... others."

Sirius snorted, crossing his arms. _Everyone_ in the room knew about those Extendable Ears, and the fact that there was no way that Molly had managed to get rid of every single one.

"Well," Molly breathed in deeply and looked around the table for further support that did not come. "Well... I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry's best interests at heart-"

"He's not your son," Sirius cut in, voice dangerously soft as his heart jolted violently in his chest.

"He's as good as," Molly claimed scathingly. "Who else has he got?"

Sirius gritted his teeth. "He's got me!"

"Yes," Molly's lip curled contemptuously. "The thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

Sirius felt like he couldn't breathe, and there was a haze of red-hot rage that bordered on madness clouding his brain. How _dare_ this _bitch_- James had made _him_ godfather- She _had no right_- 'Son' his _arse_-

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," Remus interjected sharply, and for a moment, through the fog in his head (_that felt a lot like Azkaban and Dementors and cold, dark, never-ceasing nightmares_), Sirius thought that maybe Moony would defend him, just like old times, just like Before, when it was the Marauders against the world, but then- "Sirius, sit down."

...Was that it?

Sit down?

_Sit down?_

Suddenly feeling as lethargic and muddled as one would in a dream, Sirius stumbled back a step and slowly began sinking back into his chair, hands shaking, _hurtacrimonywhywon'tyoudefendmeMoony_ choking his throat and squeezing his heart in a vice-like grip until he couldn't _breathe_-

"What do you mean 'sit down'?"

Sirius almost fell out of the seat he had just taken again, his godson's voice coming so out of the blue that it threw him for a loop, and when he looked up, he was astounded to find Harry out of his own chair, book forgotten, and standing beside Sirius, green eyes narrowed and fuming behind his glasses.

"Harry-" Remus started in a placating tone of voice.

If anything, this just riled Harry up even further. The kid squared his shoulders as if preparing for battle.

"What do you mean 'sit down'?" Harry repeated unrelentingly, scowling at Remus. "Didn't you hear what she said?"

Remus faltered, looking uncertain, but Harry didn't wait for an answer, turning to face Molly instead who suddenly looked out of her depth as if she wasn't used to Harry talking back to her. From what Sirius had gleaned over the past two years, Harry _wasn't_ one for verbal throwdowns, not really. Normally, when the kid truly wanted to stand his ground on a matter, he would show it through his actions, not words.

Although Sirius supposed there was plenty of action going on right now.

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry stated, and there was an inflexible cadence in his voice that Sirius had never heard before. If several of the others' expression were anything to go by, neither had they. "I appreciate the kindness that you and your family have shown me over the past four years, I really do, but Sirius didn't cool his heels in the vacation home for deranged felons because the Dementors gave good spa treatments, and implying anything of the sort is just plain spiteful."

Regardless of the subject conversation, Sirius had to bite back a reflexive grin even as the twins released simultaneous snorts from their corner.

"I admit," Harry continued without so much as a smile, paying no mind to the byplay. "That he was reckless in going after Wormtail but he paid for it in full, and he got back to me as soon as he could. If anyone has the right to complain about him, it's me, and I _don't _have any complaints, not about that."

His chin tilted up half an inch, defiance in every line of his body, and there was something almost... _aristocratic_ in the way he stood and stared down the formidable Weasley matriarch.

"I understand that you are worried about me, Mrs. Weasley," Harry finished curtly. "And I am grateful for that. But that doesn't give you any right to say what you said to Sirius. You are not my mother, but Sirius _is_ my godfather. My parents entrusted me to him in the event that they couldn't take care of me themselves, so no one in this room, in this country, in this _world_, has more say over my wellbeing than Sirius does."

A deafening holy-Merlin-what-just-happened silence prevailed over the dining room. No one seemed to know how to react. Remus was blank-faced and silent. Hermione looked scandalized. Ron's ears were the colour of his hair. Arthur was frozen in his seat. And Molly had gone completely scarlet, perhaps angry or embarrassed or both.

And Harry, still a teenager in the end, flushed red as well, but his fists remained mutinously balled, his gaze never wavered, and there was no apology or remorse anywhere in his expression. He had meant every word, and he clearly didn't plan on taking any of it back.

And right at that moment, Sirius could've given the boy the universe as a representation of what he was feeling and still not have been able to show just how happy he was.

Harry glanced back at him, still thoroughly self-conscious and evidently trying to gauge Sirius' reaction. Sirius just let a grin split his face, proud and feeling like his heart might grow too big for his chest, as cheesy as that sounded. Without a word, he flicked his wand at Harry's chair so that it skittered over to his side, and then promptly dragged Harry into it.

Harry rolled his eyes but finally smiled back, the colour in his cheeks receding back to normal again.

"So," Sirius broke the silence jubilantly. "Obviously, we can't tell you everything, but you can ask, and we'll see what we _can_ tell you. What do you want to know?"

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry said at once, reverting back to a curious teenager instead of that peculiarly mature persona from earlier. "Where's Voldemort hiding right now? What's he been doing?"

They both ignored the shudders around the room.

"Well," Sirius began. "There's not been-"

"Fine!" Molly cut him off, her voice cracking, and she turned over-bright eyes on her children. "Fine! Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George – I want you out of this kitchen now!"

The uproar that followed was loud and long, and by the time it ended, the twins, Ron, and Hermione were allowed to stay, and Ginny threw a fit on her way back to her room, though Sirius didn't know what Molly was thinking since he was sure that Hermione would be telling the girl everything the moment they were alone.

In the end, Harry asked less questions than Sirius had expected, all of them to-the-point and insightful, but at the same time, they leaned slightly on the disinterested side as if Harry wasn't too fussed about wringing answers from them at all, and ultimately, it was the other kids, even Hermione, who persisted nosily into the Order's movements and actions while Harry sat back and absorbed it all, hands fiddling with his book as he took in everything that was said.

By the time Molly finally snapped and ordered them all upstairs (still unable to look directly at Harry even as she did so), only her children offered a token protest. Harry simply tucked his book under one arm, murmured a goodnight to Sirius, accepted the tight hug that Sirius wrapped him in, and then meandered out of the room.

Very strange.

**XI.**

Harry waited until Ron's snoring filled the room before he took out his pocket watch, pulled the covers over his head, and switched the setting to the two-way mirror. A focused thought later, Reg's face shimmered into existence above the timepiece, casting a dim light in the darkness of the bedroom.

"Draw your bed curtains, Harry," Reg advised by way of greeting. "They have a Silencing Ward on them."

Oh," Harry said rather densely as he pushed himself upright and hastily yanked the curtains close.

"Busy day?" Reg enquired as Harry settled down again, sitting up and leaning against the headboard this time as he held the watch in front of him.

"It was okay," Harry made a face. "Professor Moody flew us halfway around the world before we finally got here."

Reg chuckled, and out of sight, something that sounded like glass clinked against a tabletop. "Sounds like him. I never personally knew him but his paranoia is legendary. How are you liking Grimmauld Place?"

"There are mounted _house-elf heads_ on the walls!" Harry muttered, more than a little disturbed.

Reg looked rueful this time. "Some pureblood families are like that. It used to be tradition for a family's house-elves to have their heads cut off and mounted on a plaque in return for their lifetime of loyal service. It's supposed to be an honour."

Harry couldn't imagine why. Literally. "So you mean people like the Malfoys...?"

"Oh no," Reg looked amused now. "The Malfoys stopped that tradition a long time ago. Crude, they thought it to be, not to mention bad for the decor, and it scared their peacocks. And I can just imagine Narcissa's face if anyone ever so much as suggests it to her. She never did like house-elves, not even live ones half the time."

Harry had only ever met Malfoy's mum once, and she had already looked distasteful of everything around her at the time. Merlin only knew how she'd react if someone mentioned house-elf heads stuck to her house's walls.

"You know Mrs. Malfoy?" Harry asked curiously.

Reg inclined his head. "She's six years older than me so we were at Hogwarts together. Her maiden name is Black. She's your godfather's cousin."

"Sirius is related to the Malfoys?!" Harry yelped.

"All purebloods are related to each other," Reg said dismissively. "Didn't I mention that before? _You're_ related to the Blacks as well. Your... grandmother on your father's side was Dorea Potter née Black. She married Charlus Potter. Dorea was also your godfather's great-aunt, which technically makes Si- Black your cousin, however distant."

Harry's head reeled from all the relations. "Purebloods really like marrying one another, huh?"

Reg huffed a laugh before a wineglass appeared and the man took a sip. "Yes they do. It's that blood purity rot. Your godfather's parents, Orion and Walburga, were second cousins."

"And they _married_?" Harry could barely imagine it. "Isn't that- Well obviously it's not illegal or anything but isn't that bad for family lines in the long run?"

"Indeed," Reg agreed. "Have you met any Crabbes or Goyles?" Harry nodded with dawning realization. "What do you think happened to them? They weren't dropped on their heads as babies. Not that I know of anyway."

"Wow," Harry said, mildly perturbed as he shook his head.

"Exactly," Reg hummed, taking another sip of red wine. They were quiet for a while after that as Harry digested everything.

"Draco Malfoy's my cousin as well," Harry groused sulkily. "Brilliant." He paused. "You know a lot about bloodlines."

"I was made to learn," Reg revealed. "Most pureblood children are, though a lot of the time, they're only required to learn their patriarchal heritage since that's where the heir would be inheriting from. Draco Malfoy, for example, will become the next Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy, not Black, so he wouldn't really need to know his mother's lineage."

"Who would inherit for the Blacks then?" Harry frowned. "Sirius doesn't have any children-"

"-so he'll probably name you," Reg shrugged in response to Harry's dropped jaw. "What did you think he would do? You're his godson, the closest thing he has to an offspring of his own."

Harry nodded distractedly. "You know a lot about the Blacks."

Reg acknowledged this with a noncommittal nod. "I do."

Harry straightened a bit. "...Today, when I saw Sirius, his eyes... You remember, a few weeks ago, back before you even told me your name, I told you that you seemed familiar? I finally figured out who you remind me of. You have the same eyes as Sirius, and you laugh like him too. ...Who are you?"

Infuriatingly enough, Reg didn't so much as bat an eye. "You'll find out soon enough."

"If I'll find out soon enough, why won't you just tell me now?" Harry complained.

Reg smiled rather indulgently at him. "It would be poor form on my part if I tell you everything instead of letting you figure things out by yourself. We wouldn't want you to become even more stupid, now would we?"

Harry scowled half-heartedly at the serenely delivered insult. "Fine. You have to have been in Grimmauld Place before though, or you wouldn't know its location, not to mention all the stuff you know about the Order. You sound like you've practically been at the meetings, but you said you're not one of them. You're not some sort of ghost haunting Grimmauld Place, are you?"

This startled a light laugh out of Reg. "Ghosts don't have corporeal bodies, kid. I'm as alive as you are, don't worry."

"_Have_ you been in Grimmauld Place?" Harry persisted doggedly. "Wait, no; _are_ you in Grimmauld Place? Right now?"

Reg heaved a disparaging sigh. Harry thought this was highly uncalled for. "Hey, I'm figuring things out for myself; you should be ecstatic!"

Reg arched an eyebrow at him before downing the rest of his wine and then evidently picking up his watch as the wizard's image shook. "I'll be even more ecstatic if you learn some patience. Tomorrow, Harry. For now, I shall bid you goodnight."

And with that, the watch dimmed, and the link was cut, engulfing the bedroom in darkness once more.

Harry glowered sullenly. Not fair.

**XII.**

"You had a brother," Harry said faintly, staring at the wall-hanging. Sirius had been showing him around the house, and they had stopped at a tapestry of the Black family tree.

A tapestry with the name 'Regulus Arcturus Black' shown clearly at the very bottom of the tree. According to it, Regulus had died in 1979.

"Yeah, he was younger than me," Sirius confirmed, his mouth a harsh slash on his face. "A much better son, as I was constantly reminded. Stupid idiot... he joined the Death Eaters."

(_"Worst decision of my life, and trust me when I say I've made quite a few bad ones."_)

"And you let him?" The words slipped out before Harry could censure them, more accusing than he had meant them to be. After last night, after defending Sirius, and Sirius looking at him with that strange expression full of surprised wonder as if he couldn't believe Harry was real, he had thought that their relationship would only get better from that point on, but right now, Harry was having a hard time remembering why he shouldn't punch his godfather in the face.

Sirius stiffened and glanced at him before shrugging. "It was his choice, and he was thick enough to believe our parents."

"Most children would," Harry couldn't help saying.

"I didn't!" Sirius said defensively.

"No," Harry agreed, still not looking at his godfather. "You just ran away to my dad's house."

"Exactly," Sirius nodded, though it was tentative at best as if he could sense something off with Harry.

"And you left him behind," Harry continued, hands clenching involuntarily in his sweater pockets.

Sirius bristled. "He was our parents' golden boy. They probably pampered him even more after I left him there-"

("..._we usually have to help ourselves." "Yeah, I know the feeling, kid."_)

"-bet my parents thought he was a right little hero for joining up. In the end, he was murdered by Voldemort though. Or on Voldemort's orders, more likely; I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person. From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out; brainless little coward, as if you could just turn in your resignation or something-"

(_'The person who will tell you about me will not have very nice things to say, and I do not blame him for it. He has no idea I survived, and no idea that I had left the Dark Lord's service even before I had 'died'.'_)

"What if he had left Voldemort's service?" Harry spoke up abruptly, still staring woodenly at the tapestry, at R.A.B. "What if he thought Voldemort was wrong and that was why he tried to leave? To stand up to Voldemort?"

Sirius snorted. "If _that_ were true, and Regulus actually tried to leave because of it, well, that takes guts, Harry. He would've been turning against everything our dear parents ever taught him. He'd have to be a... a bloody _Gryffindor_ to have the bollocks to turn his back on Voldemort of all people, and let me tell you something, Harry, my brother was many things but he wasn't brave. Couldn't even stand up to our parents; he never put a toe out of line if he could help it. Voldemort would've been out of the question. Nah, even if Reggie did see something wrong with Voldemort's campaign, he would've been too much of a coward to do anything but run away, much less stand up to the Dark Lord."

"And how would you know that?" Harry challenged, rounding on his godfather and finally looking up at him. "You left him behind, remember?"

Sirius stared back at him, gaping slightly and frowning in consternation. Before he could say anything though, Harry had turned on his heel and marched out of the room without another word.

As soon as he hit the hallway, he was off, sprinting up the stairs back to the room he shared with Ron, closing and bolting the door behind him, and then diving for his bed and all but ripping the curtains shut in one go.

"Reg!" Harry gasped out before the image in the air had even finished smoothing out. "Reg! Where are you?"

Reg just watched him, cool grey eyes so much like Sirius' yet not at the same time.

Harry sighed impatiently. "You saw the whole thing, didn't you? Just now, with Sirius? Are there like spy-holes in this house?"

Still no answer. Reg's features might as well have been carved out of stone.

Harry frowned. "You realize this changes nothing, right? I can't believe Sirius just left you behind and ran away on his own! You would've been fourteen, right? Not even fifteen yet? I don't care what Sirius says; there's no way that woman in the portrait downstairs could _pamper_ _anyone_-"

"Harry," Reg interrupted softly, and Harry's mouth clicked shut. "Harry, who am I?"

Harry straightened. "Regulus. Regulus Arcturus Black, former Death Eater, former heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Sirius' younger brother, and..." He shot Reg a mulish look. "My goduncle."

Reg stared. Harry stared back.

And then Reg closed his eyes and leaned away, moving out of the frame for a moment. A strangled sound came through, somewhere between a laugh and a rusty sob, before Reg came back, the horrible blank mask from before nowhere in sight, and looking at Harry like Sirius had yesterday, like he couldn't believe Harry was real.

"_Why_ did you think something would change?" Harry demanded, torn between affronted and bewildered. "I _told_ you nothing would change. What does it matter if you're Sirius' brother? If anything, that just gives me _more_ of a reason to stick around you."

Reg just shook his head. "I... Harry, you have to understand, I'm not used to people... staying. Sirius left. Andy left. Cissa left. Bellatrix was never here to begin with; she broke very early on in her life. Mother only put up with me, first as incentive for Sirius to stick around and be more like the pureblood heir that she and Father wanted, and then, after he left, I was the only one who could carry on the Black name, nothing more. Have you heard of the saying 'an heir and a spare'? I was the spare. They only wanted me because I was the respectable son. Sirius was the one who should've been that. The firstborn, you know? There's a certain prestige that comes with that particular title. But that didn't turn out very well; Sirius ran away and I was the only one left."

Reg's eyes were distant now. "A large part of why I acted the way Mother wanted me to was because I wanted her to like me." He offered a fractured smile. "Obviously, that didn't work out either."

Harry was quiet for a long minute. "...Well, who needs her? She's dead anyway, and I could always use a second god... relative. You give better advice than Sirius does, that's for sure."

Reg looked highly pleased at this but did his best to curb that emotion. "Sirius is a better duellist than I am. Practically everyone in my family is. I prefer defence to offence."

Harry scowled a little at the thought of his godfather. How could anyone say that about their own sibling? Harry had none of course but he had always believed that if he _did_, he'd always try to protect them and vice versa when it came down to it no matter what arguments or fights they got into.

"Bellatrix?" Harry switched topics instead, shifting his thoughts away from Sirius as he recalled the tapestry. "And Andy would be Andromeda? And Cissa is Narcissa Malfoy, right?"

"Yes," Reg nodded. "Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa – me and Sirius' cousins. Andy was the smart one; got out while she could and married for love. Cissa's marriage to Lucius was arranged but they're a good match, and I think they actually do love each other, though of course, they reserve any and all affections towards each other and their son for when they're behind closed doors. Cissa is very family-oriented. As for Bellatrix... she's even worse than Mother, and I don't say that for just anyone. From the updates Kreacher has given me over the past decade and a half, Bellatrix was one of the Death Eaters who tortured the Longbottoms into insanity."

Harry jolted. "Longbottoms? I have a friend – Neville – he's-"

"Probably their son," Reg surmised. "How unfortunate. If you ever bump into her, Harry, and you probably will sooner or later, keep in mind that Bellatrix Lestrange is one of the most dangerous people you will ever meet in your entire life."

A chill ran down Harry's spine. "Sounds like I should avoid her."

Reg smiled, humourless and dark. "You can certainly try, but she is the Dark Lord's favourite. Once she's out of Azkaban, wherever Voldemort goes, she'll never be far behind."

Even a simple warning like that sounded ominous.

"...Kreacher's a bit mad," Harry said for lack of anything better as he tried to put Bellatrix out of his mind. There was no use worrying about her now.

Reg chuckled. "Just a little, but he's nowhere near as mad as he portrays himself to be. Maybe he would've been had I truly died all those years ago but he had me to ground him and concentrate on once Mother had died so he's still quite sane even now. He just likes screwing with my brother's head, that's all. Kreacher's my best friend."

Harry couldn't decide whether this was just weird or the saddest thing he had ever heard. He had nothing against house-elves (so long as they weren't Dobby on a heroic streak) but this was... "Your... best friend?"

"Kreacher saved my life," Reg said somberly. "Approximately sixteen years ago, I struck a blow against Voldemort and almost paid for it with my life. If Kreacher hadn't circumvented my orders and come back for me, I'd be very much dead right now. As it is, I still spent the last sixteen years in a coma."

"_Sixteen years?!_" Harry exclaimed. "That's why everyone thinks you're dead! You weren't even actively hiding; you were unconscious!"

Reg nodded. "I woke up a few months before I met you."

"Are you..." Harry squinted at the older wizard's short brown hair. "What do you really look like?"

Reg blinked at him, and then a smile curved his lips. "Why don't you come and see?"

Harry sat up. "Are you in the house right now? How has no one caught you yet?"

Reg scoffed. "Please, do you really think what you've seen of the house so far is all there is of the Black family's ancestral home? Sirius was never fully trained to be the heir; he ran away before he learned everything. The only one who knows all the secrets in this house is me, and I'm certainly not informing the Order of the Stuffed Turkey about them."

He paused when the sound of someone banging on the bedroom door reached their ears, and Sirius' voice came through, a little awkward and a little desperate. _"Harry? Are you in there? Listen, I'm sorry if I upset you. I've just never gotten along very well with my family, and this place brings back bad memories. We could... talk about something else, or you could at least come down for lunch? Molly's just about done with a tray of sandwiches."_

"Don't be mad at him, Harry," Reg admonished quietly. "Sirius was always strong-willed, even when we were children. If someone told him to do something he didn't like, then he wouldn't do it. If he believed something to be wrong, then he wouldn't do it. He always stayed true to himself. That's the sort of person he was, and he never could understand why it was so difficult for people like me to do the same."

Reg shrugged, and Harry wondered if the man knew just how bitter and defeated he looked in that moment.

"Sirius tried to feed Snape to Professor Lupin," Harry revealed, because while he pretty much despised Snape, he didn't want the man dead, and if attempting to kill Snape via werewolf wasn't wrong, then Sirius had clearly missed a few lessons on differentiating right from wrong. "And _you_ told me he was a bully."

"Ah, well," Reg coughed. "What I meant was that Sirius stuck to his ideals when it came to the life-defining moments. At all other times, especially when he was a teenager, he was..."

"A bully," Harry finished flatly. "Who almost killed a student. And I don't care if my dad _did_ save Snape; I bet he only did that to save Professor Lupin. Which is just great. My dad didn't care if someone died either."

Reg sighed. "Look, Harry, that werewolf incident – Severus told me about it; swore me to secrecy and everything since he technically wasn't supposed to say anything, not to mention he told me beforehand that he was going to 'pay the Marauders back' that night, and all because Sirius had goaded him into it. But it wasn't as if it was a huge secret either. There's only so many times over the course of six years watching Lupin come back every month to the Great Hall the day after the full moon looking exhausted before you figure out that there's something more than a bunny problem going on. I don't know about the other Houses because they can be pretty ignorant when they want to be, but by the time Lupin graduated, most of the upper years of Slytherin knew what he was. We just never said anything about it. Slytherin subtlety and all that.

"So when Severus went to the Whomping Willow, being as intelligent as he was despite that very occasion indicating otherwise, he already suspected what Lupin was. I really should've done more to convince him not to but he's completely unreasonable when it comes to the Marauders. He only went there that night to try and get Lupin in trouble. Sev was at fault in that incident as well, even though what Sirius did was worse. But like I said, most of Slytherin already knew before Lupin even graduated. We just never said anything because: one, Dumbledore _had_ to have known about it and had allowed it anyway, and two, there was no personal gain in snitching on Lupin if he already had permission to be there."

"Malfoy and the other snakes all sent letters home when Snape revealed that Professor Lupin was a werewolf though," Harry argued, and Reg snorted.

"Not very cunning of them then," Reg looked disgusted. "And I bet Sev encouraged them too; his hatred of the Marauders knows no bounds. Back in my day, a Slytherin would never snitch, at least not without a purpose, and from what you've told me, Lupin was a decent professor. At the very least, a real Slytherin would've hoarded the information away to blackmail Lupin for a better grade or something, though knowing Lupin, that probably wouldn't have worked. Still, at least they would've done it for personal gain. Slytherins these days; utterly mindless."

Harry snickered, and then looked up again when Sirius knocked once more. _"Harry? Did you fall asleep or are you ignoring me? At least give me a yes or no, won't you?"_

"I have to go," Harry said reluctantly.

"Come to the library later when you have time," Reg told him. "One of the secret entrances leading to the rest of this house is there. Make sure you're alone."

Harry grinned, bidding Reg a see-you-later before closing the pocket watch. He'd probably have to sneak out after everyone was asleep but it'd be more than worth it.

He couldn't wait.

**XIII.**

"Whoa," Harry said, still sounding somewhat amazed.

Regulus sighed in exasperation and just a little discomfiture. "Harry, at the very least, please say that when you're looking at the rest of the house, not at _me_."

Harry had the decency to look apologetic but persisted, "You look a lot like Sirius."

"He _is_ my brother," Regulus reminded him.

"But you have longer hair," Harry continued stating the obvious. "And you're smaller."

Regulus' eyebrows ticked up in annoyance. "Yes, thank you, I am aware. ...I'm not _that_ much smaller. An inch shorter at most. And a little less broad in the shoulders but who wants to be brawny?"

Harry snickered at that, and Regulus cuffed the kid over the head. Brat.

"You're really thin though," Harry frowned, looking concerned now. "Sirius is too but you're worse. Have you been eating regularly?"

Regulus couldn't help it; he rolled his eyes. "Kid, you're not my mother. ...Thank Merlin for that actually. Still, you don't have to worry so much. I already have Kreacher fussing over me."

As if on cue, Kreacher appeared with a loud crack, making Harry jump.

"Master Regulus would like a late snack?" The elf enquired slyly. His eyes drifted over to Harry, and after a moment's hesitation, he offered grudgingly, "Would Master Regulus' guest like a snack as well?"

Harry's mouth dropped open, and Regulus nudged him in chastisement before nodding at Kreacher. "A snack would be nice, Kreacher. Send something to the second drawing room please? We'll be there shortly."

Kreacher bowed and disappeared again. Harry shook his head. "I've only seen him once since I got here and he just ignored me then. I suppose that _was_ better since he pretty much insulted everyone else in the room."

Regulus chuckled, leading Harry down another hallway. "Kreacher doesn't like many people, especially when they're somehow related to Sirius."

"_You're_ related to Sirius," Harry pointed out. "_I'm _related to Sirius."

"Yes, but you're also related to me," Regulus expounded. "And I've been friends with Kreacher before I even entered Hogwarts. On the other hand, Sirius never treated Kreacher very well. Sometimes, I find my dear brother to be something of a hypocrite. For all that he vocally shunned our parents' beliefs and principles ever since we were kids, Sirius treats Kreacher almost as badly as Mother did. Of course, Sirius was the rebellious one but not even I followed our mother's orders all the time, and Kreacher always tried to take my side in any confrontation."

Regulus smiled fondly at the thought. Obviously, the house-elf hadn't been able to outright disobey the lord and lady of the house back then but Kreacher had always helped Regulus as best he could in any situation.

"You've also been getting me to eat," He added. "And Kreacher was rather thrilled with an ally on that front so I suspect he'll be making an exception for you."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know why house-elves always seem to make exceptions for me. Dobby's like that too. At least Kreacher won't be as fanatical about it. He calls Hermione a... a Mudblood though, and everyone else blood traitors."

Regulus shrugged lightly. "Words like that were commonplace in the Black home. In the end however, they're only labels, and they only define you if you let them. And I mean no offence when I say this, Harry, but I really could not care less about your friends' sensitivities, which is why I have not ordered Kreacher to stop." He hesitated. "Nevertheless, if you prefer it, I could..."

"Could _I_ try asking him?" Harry suggested, eyeing Regulus critically. "If he does it again the next time, I mean? I think... I don't think he'd respect me as much – or at all – if I asked you to ask him _for_ me. Not calling my friends by those names is something _I_ want, not you, so I should be the one to ask."

Regulus paused in the doorway of their destination, surveying Harry with something akin to respect. How the hell had someone like James Potter managed to gain – _deserve_ – someone like Harry for a son?

"If that is what you want," Regulus acquiesced, guiding Harry into the drawing room where hot chocolate and scones were already waiting on the table. "You'd certainly have better luck with it than Sirius."

"Yeah," Harry agreed dryly. "But then Sirius doesn't so much as ask Kreacher to do something as insult him back, so that's not so hard to do."

"Fair enough," Regulus conceded as they sat down. "Tensions between the occupants of this household aside, how are you liking the rest of the Black home?"

"It's definitely cleaner," Harry said at once as he looked around, munching on a lemon scone as the fire crackled merrily in the background. "This is the _second _drawing room?"

"Yes, there are four in total," Regulus revealed. "This is the guest wing, you could say, but the Blacks didn't really have guests over so Mother and Father just used this wing as their personal quarters away from the rest of the house. There are quite a few bedrooms as well, not to mention a kitchen, and there are a number of passageways that lead down to the potions labs as well as to the second and third floors of the library."

Harry looked a little overwhelmed. "I thought the library only had one floor; Sirius never mentioned anything."

"Like I said," Regulus restated. "Sirius doesn't know this house as well as he thinks he does. The second and third floors hold some very Dark-inclined books, as well as scrolls and tomes containing family secrets that are only passed on to the heir, and eventually their spouse if the lord so chooses."

Harry hummed thoughtfully, still looking around. "Is that a map of the stars over there?"

Regulus followed his gaze and nodded. "Yes, there are maps like that all over the house if you know where to look. It's tradition for most children in my family to be named after a star or a constellation so I guess that's why we have astronomy charts all over the place."

Harry had gotten up and wandered over to the map hanging on the wall, and after picking up his hot chocolate, Regulus followed.

"So most of the Blacks are named after stars?" Harry peered at the tiny lettering beside each silver dot. "I know Sirius is the Dog Star... here..."

"Sirius is the brightest star in the sky," Regulus pointed at the correct dot. "Part of the Canis Major constellation. Over there is Uncle Alphard, the brightest star in the Hydra constellation; Andromeda is right here, she gets an entire constellation for herself, though neither she nor Uncle Alphard's names would ever be used again in the Black line since they've both been disowned; here's Bellatrix, a star in the constellation Orion, and of course, Orion is my father, his constellation was named after that hunter in Greek mythology. Great-aunt Cassiopeia is here, Grandfather Pollux over here, three Cygnus's have come and gone, the second one was your great-grandfather actually, and the third one was my uncle. Three Arcturus's have also passed on, third one was my grandfather, and the second was your... great-uncle I believe. Yes, he was your great-grandfather's brother; your grandmother Dorea's uncle. Merlin, there are a lot of us."

Regulus glanced down at Harry who looked like he had tuned most of those relations out three sentences ago. Regulus snorted into his drink; kid was lucky that it wasn't Walburga Black giving him a rundown of their familial ties.

"Oh, I found you!" Harry piped up once more, pointing at one portion of the map. "Hey, you're part of the Leo constellation."

Regulus smiled rather sardonically. "Yes, the brightest star in the constellation Leo the Lion, and actually one of the brightest in the night sky. It means 'prince' or 'little king' in Latin, although some people refer to that star as 'Cor Leonis', which translates to 'Heart of the Lion'. Ironic, isn't it? Considering which House I went to and everything I've done. Don't know what Mother was thinking naming me 'Regulus'. Probably didn't know about the double-meaning. Sirius would laugh himself to death if he ever discovered that particular-"

"And why should he?" Harry rounded on him, green eyes suddenly blazing like precious jewels being forged in fire, and Regulus blinked, stunned enough to take a step back. "I think your name fits you perfectly! Sirius should never have called you a coward, or said any of those things; you _are _brave, no matter what he says. Besides, I'm a Gryffindor but I could be a Slytherin too, so it stands to reason that you can be a Slytherin and be a Gryffindor as well."

Regulus stared impassively at Harry's defiant expression for a long moment, and then he quirked a tiny helpless smile and ruffled the boy's mop of black hair before ushering him back towards the table. "You're a good kid, Harry."

Harry's cheeks stained red and he scowled at Regulus like a moody teenager but neither of them said anything more as they curled up in their respective armchairs and settled down to finish their midnight snacks.

Later, when Harry nodded off by the fireplace, Regulus scooped the boy up, snuck out into the rest of the house, ghosted into the bedroom that the youngest Weasley boy was still snoring in, and tucked Harry back into bed with gentle hands, relieving him of his glasses as well before silently slipping away once more.

**XIV.**

"Time for dinner!"

At Mrs. Weasley's third call of the evening, Harry took a seat at the table between Tonks and Sirius, who had become increasingly surlier as the days passed by. Reg – whom Harry usually spent a few hours with every night, either talking or working on his Occlumency or learning something entirely new – had told him that Sirius had always been an active person, someone who preferred action over sitting around, and _nobody _liked being locked up in one place anyway, especially for someone who had spent twelve years locked up in Azkaban.

_"And for Sirius,"_ Reg had added dryly. _"Grimmauld Place might as well be Azkaban."_

So Harry had done his best to engage his godfather in cleaning the house and chatting about anything either of them could think of, except Sirius – more and more often, especially after Harry had gotten mad at him for badmouthing Reg – preferred shutting himself up in his mother's room with Buckbeak.

To top it all off, Hermione hadn't stopped nagging him about his supposed guilt, Ron was backing Hermione, and the only reason Harry hadn't resorted to shouting at his two friends was because of his nightly reprieves with Reg, which was the only time he actually enjoyed himself.

_'I never thought I'd think this,'_ Harry mused glumly to himself as he waited for everyone else to join them at the table. _'But I wish I was back at the Dursleys. At least then I wouldn't have to spend my afternoons waging war against a murderous house, waging war against my best friends, and waging war against Sirius' moping when I could be learning Runes with Regulus.'_

"Are we all here then?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she bustled over to sit down between Mr. Weasley and Bill. "Alright, dig in. And Tonks, please watch your elbow. The salt's right there."

"Sorry, Molly," Tonks hastily shifted the salt away, almost knocking a plate to the ground instead in the process, the accident narrowly avoided only because Harry managed to catch it before it teetered off the edge of the table. "Oh, thanks, Harry. Potatoes?"

Harry grinned and nodded, holding up his plate as Tonks doled out a ladleful of mashed potatoes. He rather liked Tonks, clumsiness and all, and while Reg had admitted that out of his three cousins, it had been Narcissa Malfoy who had been his favourite (_"What?! Are you _sure_?" "Brat, she's different with family; trust me."_), he had also said that Andromeda came a close second (while Bellatrix was a very far last), and the woman had done a good job raising her daughter.

"Oh for goodness' sakes, do you have to show up at dinnertime too?" Sirius groaned acerbically, and Harry looked around for the source of his godfather's irritation. As he'd expected, Kreacher had just slunk in, mumbling to himself.

And Harry only saw it because he had gotten into the habit of looking for it but he caught the furtive glint of derisive amusement in the house-elf's eyes.

"Kreacher is cleaning," Kreacher defended, and then continued in an undertone, "Master insults Master just by being back here, oh yes, ungrateful blind Master never saw Lord Master drowning-"

"He's gone round the bend," Sirius scoffed even as Harry's insides went cold at the mention of Regulus drowning. The older wizard still hadn't told him what exactly it had been that had almost caused his death sixteen years ago. "What's he even talking about now? I swear he rambles on more about my father than my mother nowadays."

It was never Orion Black that Kreacher was talking about, Harry thought, though he kept it to himself.

"Kreacher, maybe you can clean in here later," Hermione chimed in kindly.

Kreacher's gaze immediately zeroed in on her with clear loathing. "The thieving Mudblood dares talk to Kreacher as though she is my friend-"

"Don't call her a Mudblood!" Half the table chorused angrily, and Harry sighed. So far, besides his midnight visits to Reg's part of the house, he actually hadn't seen much of Kreacher so he hadn't had the opportunity to make his request. He supposed now was as good a time as any.

"You damn elf," Sirius seethed, looking mad enough to bodily chuck Kreacher out of the room like he had done just a few days ago. _That_ had resulted in Harry giving Sirius the cold shoulder for the rest of the day before apologizing to Kreacher later that same night.

"Sirius, stop it," Harry sighed, because honestly, couldn't Sirius even _try_ to talk to Kreacher politely, just once, without any insults being thrown in? Harry understood hating someone, he hated Snape with a passion but at least he knew how to keep a civil tongue around the man, no matter how much Snape sneered at him or let the Slytherins sabotage him in Potions. Otherwise, Harry would have had a _lot_ more detentions and point deductions over the past four years.

"Kreacher," Harry bent down from his seat so that he was closer to the house-elf's height. Kreacher turned to eyeball him with a neutral expression. "I know words like 'Mudblood' and 'blood traitors' used to be thrown around like candy in this house but would it be possible for you to tone it down a bit? My friends really don't like it, and I'd really appreciate it if you could stop."

There was a long silence. Kreacher continued staring beadily at him for several seconds before muttering, "This is Master's guest's request?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Kreacher."

Kreacher twitched, evidently unhappy about the situation in general, but there was something measured and calculating in the old elf's gaze, as if he was assessing Harry, though for what, Harry didn't know.

And then, after another minute-long tense silence, Harry could almost hear the inward sigh of resignation from Kreacher before the elf grumbled out, "Master's guest makes Master happy, so if Master's guest so wishes, then Kreacher will stop."

And with that said, the house-elf shot another look of utter abhorrence at the others sitting around the table, specifically at Sirius, but refrained from saying anything further, and to the entire room's astonishment, Kreacher left without even the quietest of whispered slurs under his breath.

Harry straightened in his seat and turned back to his food, overlooking the staggered hush around him as he stuck a spoonful of potatoes in his mouth.

"Blimey, Harry," Ron was the first to speak up. "What did you bribe that old fruitcake with to make him agree?"

Harry frowned. "Nothing, Ron, and don't call him a fruitcake. He'll stop calling you people names so it's only fair if you don't call him anything rude either, right?"

"Don't know why he'd listen to you though," Sirius looked confused. "Why in the world would Kreacher care whether or not you made me happy? Not that you don't, Harry; you do, very much."

Harry inwardly snorted. Did he really? Did Harry make Sirius so happy that the man spent almost every waking moment in the company of a hippogriff over his godson?

As conversation slowly returned to the table, with Hermione beaming approvingly at him from her seat, Harry plastered on a smile and turned to Tonks. "So you were telling me about your family yesterday. You didn't get to finish that story about how Mrs. Tonks saved your dad from falling into a river without magic while still being a dozen feet away."

Tonks laughed, hair turning bright pink and standing on end as she launched enthusiastically back into the tale she had been telling him yesterday during lunch, though she did tack on first, "Just call my mum Andromeda or Andy; none of that Mrs. Tonks nonsense, and Dad is Ted. They wouldn't mind."

The rest of the evening took a turn for the better as Harry even managed to coax Sirius and Lupin into retelling some of the numerous Marauder stories they had, ignoring the wistful twinge in his own chest as they spoke so fondly of his father.

Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed or had left, Harry joined Reg in the drawing room as per usual. This time, he asked for a story about Regulus' time at Hogwarts, and the anecdotes that the older wizard told him about the handfuls of times that Reg himself along with _Snape _had pulled a prank only to frame it on the Marauders soon had Harry in stitches before the night was up.

**XV.**

Sirius hesitated in the doorway, peering inside at his godson who was lying on his stomach on his bed with an array of parchment and books in front of him. He hadn't noticed Sirius yet.

Just an hour ago, Sirius had – Accidentally, honest! He _had_ been trying. – aimed a kick at Kreacher when he had caught the house-elf lurking in front of a portrait of Nurmengard in the library and handing Harry a book. Sirius had leapt to the conclusion that the book had to be dangerous and had charged in to save his godson.

How was he supposed to have known that the book had really just been an obscure copy of _Advanced Charms: How to Weave Charms into Wards_, and nothing Dark about it at all?

But his kick had skimmed Kreacher's arm, made the damn elf yelp, and Harry had rounded on him like a wolf defending its pack, yelling at Sirius (while Kreacher had looked smug on the side) before storming out of the library in a huff.

Sirius had stewed morosely in a corner of the library by himself for the next hour before finally manning up and hunting Harry down. And now that he had...

He knocked twice, offering an uncertain smile when Harry's head shot up and cool green eyes darted over to take him in.

"Hey, Harry," It was amazing how much Harry could make Sirius feel like he was an unruly teenager again, cowering under the lethal glare of Lily Evans after he and the other Marauders had done something stupid. "Can I come in?"

Harry shrugged but shifted on the bed and left a space that was as good as an invitation. Sirius shuffled inside and took a seat, glancing absently at the sheaves of paper.

"Runes?" He remarked nonchalantly. "I didn't know you took Runes."

"I don't," Harry said shortly. "But I recently became interested in it and I was hoping if I studied enough, McGonagall might let me switch out of Divination either this year or next year."

Sirius had to make a face at all the studying that that would entail but he was soon sidetracked by one of the papers depicting a series of basic rune sigils and their meanings. He was no expert at the subject since he had never taken it but he knew enough to at least recognize a handful of the fundamental runes.

Still, it wasn't the runes themselves that caught his attention. Instead, next to the black, slightly messy scrawl of his godson's handwriting, his gaze fell on the green, elegant, cursive penmanship pointing out certain parts of Harry's work that could be improved.

Now, Sirius was perfectly aware that that handwriting could very well belong to Hermione or even Bill if Harry had asked one of them to look over his work. However, Sirius had never seen Hermione's writing before, and Bill's, while neat, was typically much less flowing on a page than these letters were.

And for some reason, Sirius was certain that he had seen this handwriting before, yet he couldn't quite recall where...

A rustle broke him out of his contemplation, and a moment later, the page disappeared under a pile of other parchment.

Sirius side-eyed his godson from out of the corner of his eye. The kid looked guilty for just a second.

"So what are you doing here anyway?" Harry asked casually. "Did you need something?"

"No, I-" Handwriting forgotten, Sirius cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I came to apologize. For kicking Kreacher."

Harry squinted at him. "You really should be apologizing to him, not me. But I suppose that's not going to happen."

Sirius winced, running a hand through his hair. "Look, Harry, Kreacher has never liked me, and the feeling's mutual-"

"What has that got to do with anything?" Harry demanded. "I don't like Malfoy but that doesn't mean I go around picking on him for no good reason. Usually, it's the other way around."

Sirius sighed gustily, scrubbing a tired hand over his face. "That's different. Kreacher has never liked me because I've always defied my mother, and that elf practically worshipped the ground she walked on, Merlin only knows why; that old hag Crucio'd him whenever she thought he did something wrong."

Harry paled, and too late, Sirius remembered what had happened to his godson in the graveyard last June.

But Harry just took a shaky breath and forged on. "But he liked your brother. Kreacher I mean."

Sirius snorted. "I'll say. Kreacher adored him, all because Reggie was nice to him."

"You could be a little nicer to him then," Harry said pointedly.

Sirius threw his hands up. "How can I when he's the farthest thing from nice to _me_?"

Harry gave him an uncompromising are-you-stupid look that, for some reason, brought with it a wave of nostalgia and sparked a distant memory in his mind, one that inexplicably made Sirius' throat close up for a moment.

And then it passed as Harry huffed out, "Any relationship goes both ways, Sirius. How do you expect Kreacher to be nice to you if you're not at least civil to him? He's stopped calling everybody Mudbloods and blood traitors now; you could afford to stop spitting derogatory terms at him every time you clap eyes on him."

Sirius stared, partly because hearing his godson use a word like 'derogatory' was startling at best (what kind of respectable Gryffindor teenager in this day and age said 'derogatory'?), and partly because... well, he was getting scolded by his aforementioned godson.

Harry blew out an annoyed breath and turned away, and Sirius had the odd feeling that he had disappointed his godson. "Whatever. Look, I need to get this done-"

"I'll try!" Sirius blurted out hastily. "I'll try to be nicer to Kreacher. I'll... If he continues keeping his insults to himself, I'll do the same. Okay?"

Harry pinned him with another narrow-eyed hawk-like stare as if weighing Sirius' trustworthiness, but then he rolled his eyes and flopped onto his back, a small smile working its way onto his face. "Just try to be kind, Sirius. You act like I'm asking you to be an angel or something equally unattainable."

Sirius barked out a laugh, relaxing now that Harry didn't seem mad at him anymore. "Yeah, angel wouldn't work very well for a Marauder like me. Or at the very least, I'd be a delinquent angel."

Harry spluttered out a laugh of his own, and Sirius beamed. There, that was more like it.

"So what are you doing anyway?" Sirius asked inquisitively as he glanced at all the books again. "You don't _have_ to study now, do you? Hermione and Ron have been complaining that you've been avoiding them."

Harry immediately scowled. "You'd avoid them too if they kept badgering you about feeling guilty about Cedric's death. I'm over it but Hermione doesn't seem to think I can manage that on my own so I _must_ still be grieving, and I won't _stop_ grieving until I talk to them about it! It's ridiculous!"

Sirius' eyebrows hit his hairline by the time Harry had finished his rant. At the back of his mind, he was relieved that his godson still had some regular teenager left in him even though he had matured quite a bit this summer.

"Well," Sirius said carefully. "I suppose they're just worried about you. It _would_ seem a bit odd to them that you came back after a month with those Dursleys completely better, don't you think?"

Harry's brow creased but Sirius was pleased to see that the kid was thinking about it.

"Yeah, I know, but that's not really what I'm mad about," Harry muttered, righting himself to sit cross-legged on the bed. "I... I told them about the person I met at the park. Reg. Hermione keeps accusing him of being some sort of... child molester."

The last two words were bitten out with such outrage that Sirius made a mental note to never use it himself, especially in context with that Muggle. And then he reviewed what had been said and blanched.

"He _didn't_ do anything to you, did he?" Sirius asked cautiously, consciously noting the fact that that Muggle had about the same name as his brother. What a coincidence.

Harry all but snarled at him, looking frighteningly feral for a split second. "No, of course not! You think I'd be that stupid to keep returning to some person who would- would- do something like _that _to me? If he'd even _hinted_ at it, I never would've-"

"Harry," Sirius interrupted. "That's not what I mean. I'm not accusing anyone of anything. I'm just making sure. Obviously, your Auror guards would've jumped in if he _had_ shown any intention of... _that_, but sometimes, different perspectives, you know? And your friends have never met your friend so they would naturally be worried. Maybe if you just explain things to them in a little more detail, or tell them something of your Muggle friend so that he won't seem quite as much of a stranger to them."

Harry calmed ever-so-slightly. "Fine. No, he didn't do anything. We did crosswords, he taught me some French, and I talked to him about Cedric."

Sirius started, but before he could ask, Harry cut him off with a glower. "Obviously, not in full detail. But we talked it through, and it helped. He's a good listener."

"Oh, well, that's good," Sirius tried his best to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. "What's this Reg bloke like anyway?"

Harry threw him an indecipherable look. "...He's quiet most of the time. Not in a no-talking way or anything, though he doesn't run his mouth either; he talks to me, but he never shouts or loses his temper. He's patient when he's teaching me, and he has a really dry sense of humour. He's smart too, genius level, I swear, and it isn't just French he knows, Latin's on the table too, and..."

Sirius leaned back and let the words wash over him, listening, but at the same time, watching Harry's face come alive as he talked about his Muggle friend with the sort of passion that no one could mistake for anything except admiration.

Harry talked about Reg like the man was an adult – _almost parental_ – figure who was worth looking up to, and Sirius' heart twisted.

Not for the first time, he thought, enviously, jealously, _shamefully because if only he hadn't gone after Wormtail-_

'_I want that. Harry should know all the little details about me. He should talk about me like that. That should be me.'_

**XVI.**

Regulus frowned as he flipped through the thick stack of documentation on the agreements and exchange of dowry that had been settled upon when Bellatrix had married Rodolphus. He needed a way to get into the Lestrange vault, and this seemed as good a place as any to start.

It had been twenty-six years – almost to the day – since Bellatrix had married Rodolphus, and the lord of the Black house could now rightfully demand the return of the bride's dowry because no heir had been produced to strengthen ties between the Blacks and the Lestranges within the twenty-five-year period clause that had been agreed upon in the arranged marriage when Bellatrix had been promised to the Lestranges' firstborn all those years ago.

Imprisonment was all fine and dandy so long as it did_ not_ tarnish the noble Black name, and going back on the marriage contract constituted as... well, tarnishing the noble Black name.

It was lucky for Regulus though since all this just meant that he would now have a legal way into the Lestrange vault because said dowry was sitting in it right at this moment. It was also extremely lucky that upon the event where the lord of the Black house was in some way unable to handle legal family matters – being convicted (goblins didn't give two shits whether or not you had been tried before a court; they just cared about the verdict) and on the run counted – meant that the job was to be passed down to the next most capable, meaning the next closest family member who would also be _in good standing_.

If Regulus had been dead, that family member would've meant Narcissa Malfoy née Black since Andromeda Tonks née Black had been disowned. However, Regulus _wasn't_ dead, and he had no criminal record to speak of whatsoever, which meant legal matters now fell to him.

(And honestly, he would've had full control over the Black family anyway if Mother hadn't believed him to be dead and had been desperate enough to restore Sirius' name in the family as her heir just to have _someone_ to continue the Black line.)

However, there were a few problems to iron out, the first and foremost being that if Regulus really did have the dowry moved back to one of the Black vaults, then Sirius would find out sooner or later if and when he withdrew money again. As a criminal, Sirius couldn't handle legal affairs between family vaults but he _could_ access his money just fine, and Regulus didn't really want to show his hand in this war until he absolutely had to.

Secondly, there was also the pesky problem of the goblins not particularly liking having anything stolen from any of Gringotts' vaults. Regulus would be asking for the dowry; the Horcrux was not part of the dowry.

Regulus sighed. He had a plan of course, several plans in fact, as he always did, but all of them contained quite a liberal amount of Imperios in his near future. Stealing from Gringotts was never a good idea. Stealing from Gringotts in full view of goblins from the undoubtedly well-guarded Lestrange vault was ten times worse.

"Reg!"

Regulus glanced up at the black-haired green-eyed whirlwind who came running into the room. "What's the matter with you? Did some of the books try to eat you? I told you not to enter the third floor of the library."

"I didn't!" Harry pulled up beside the table, slightly out of breath as his eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Some of the books can eat me?!"

Regulus smirked as he set aside his work, covertly burying everything under a volume of ministerial laws without drawing Harry's attention to any of it. "Of course; I take it you haven't snuck into the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library before?"

"I have, once," Harry admitted, dropping three books onto the table before flopping rather gracelessly into the remaining chair. Regulus idly made a mental note to teach the boy how to fix that. Lords of Noble houses should not be so undignified. "Back in my first year. But the book I chose started screaming the second I opened it, and then I almost got caught by Filch and Snape. I never went back again."

Regulus' smirk grew, especially when Harry glowered at him. "What awful luck; you probably set off one of the more bad-tempered texts. Some books are more sentient than others, you know, and if they don't like you, or you don't treat them with respect, they'll scream bloody murder. Amongst other things. But you should be thankful you didn't choose one of the grimoires; those ones could've swallowed you until someone like Madame Pince came along to free you or until it digested you. Some of the worst ones go so far as to curse you or even consume your soul. Books can be very dangerous."

Harry's eyes were wide with childish fascination by the time he finished, and Regulus couldn't help smiling somewhat fondly at the boy, though he frowned inwardly at the same time. Harry's education was fairly lacking when it came to his knowledge of the wizarding world; no surprise there seeing how his parents had been killed so early. Sentient books were among the knowledge that most children with one or more pureblood relatives would know, and it was ridiculous how Harry had been isolated to the point where he knew _nothing_.

"I wish the professors at school taught stuff like this," Harry commented glumly. "Heck, I might even want to become a librarian just by hearing what you said."

Regulus cocked an eyebrow. "Would you? It's certainly an option. Being a librarian for a magical library is much more interesting than being one in the Muggle world where the books don't come alive. Not literally anyway." He paused in consideration. "You'll be entering fifth year so you'll be meeting your Head of House to discuss your career options in the later mon..."

He trailed off at Harry's clueless expression, and then sighed in disgust. "What is wrong with Britain's education these days?" He lamented to the world at large, surprising a sheepish laugh out of Harry.

"Okay," Regulus sighed again. "At Hogwarts, fifth years and seventh years are required to see their Head of House to go over their future career plans. For fifth years, it's a more generalized interview where the Head of House would ask the student what vocation or vocations they're considering, and then tell them how many OWLs and or extra courses they would need to continue on that path.

"For seventh years, it's a bit more specific. That interview would consist of the Head of House informing the student of how their marks are doing up to that point, and how many NEWTs they would need, as well as their best alternatives for post-graduation. This might include apprenticeships straight out of school, or further studies at the handful of magical universities around the world to pursue a degree _before_ moving on to find a qualified master in their chosen field to apprentice under and earn their own Mastery, or – and this is mostly for those who apply to the Ministry – simply turning in your grades and résumé and waiting to see if you get the job you want. For some departments in the Ministry, the Auror Department for example, if you _do_ get accepted – and most do; the higher-ups running that division prefer weeding out the unsuitable recruits themselves – then you would need to go through basic training in their Auror Academy."

Regulus stopped, reaching out to take a sip of wine as he watched Harry scribble furiously in a notebook that the kid had taken to carrying around with him. Regulus had found himself to be a rather random teacher, jumping from topic to topic without any set schedule, and imparting pieces of knowledge at any given moment, so Harry had decided – two weeks into their acquaintance back when he had still been at Privet Drive – to simply have something to write in with him at all times.

"_Why_ don't the teachers tell us this stuff?" Harry griped. "It's kind of _important_! I didn't even know there were magical universities out there! I didn't even know you had to go through apprenticeships to earn a Mastery! I didn't even know Masteries _existed_!"

"Nothing like a good whinging session to relieve stress," Regulus quipped dryly. "Let it all out; I'm available twenty-four-seven to receive any and all complaints at your convenience."

"Reg!" Harry protested indignantly, and then burst into laughter. "Do you have a sarcastic follow-up for everything?"

"A quip for every occasion," Regulus confirmed demurely, swirling his glass of wine in one hand. "It seems to do you good, Harry. You don't laugh much, do you?"

"It's not like you do either," Harry pointed out.

"Ah, but I'm a crotchety old man," Regulus declared dramatically, chuckling and holding up a hand to stall Harry's immediate staunch objections. "I am only joking, Harry. Let us return to the matter at hand – the teachers _do_ tell you this; they just wait until fifth year to remind everyone since Muggleborns receive a notice at the beginning of the summer before their fifth year so that they will have time to talk it over with their guardians. Half-bloods and purebloods are exempt since their guardians should already know about it."

Regulus paused at the momentarily crestfallen expression on Harry's face, but his eyes narrowed with approval when the kid visibly shook off the perceived injustice and resolutely moved past it.

"Well, it's a good thing I have you then," Harry concluded. "I swear, sometimes, I think Sirius forgets that I grew up with a Muggle background. Professor Lupin too, though he's a little better about it. Still, the way they look at me when they talk about some of the things they did with Dad back in the day like- like when they mentioned hanging up _fairy_ decorations for Yule, and I asked them to clarify – it's like they don't get why I would ask, like I'm supposed to just _know_. It's just... frustrating, you know?"

Regulus thought of the few times he had ventured out into the Muggle world out of curiosity when he had been a teenager. Not even Mother had been able to curb his desire to know _more_, though to be fair, the first time he had left a world he knew for a world he didn't, he had been a fourth-year, and it had been with Severus after his older friend had received a letter from his sick mother requesting him to come home for just a few hours because she had taken a turn for the worst, and Tobias Snape had left two years ago, leaving her alone (which, in Regulus' opinion, then and now, had been a good thing).

However, Dumbledore – _this was one of the reasons that Regulus would never forgive that old sanctimonious bastard_ – had apologized in that grandfatherly believe-me-this-hurts-me-more-than-it-hurts-you way that made Regulus want to curse him when Severus had desperately asked to leave, but had turned the Slytherin down in the end, citing some shite about a rule against allowing students out of Hogwarts and pointing out patronizingly that Severus' mother wasn't _dying_ so it wasn't an emergency.

Even back then, Regulus had seen how much Dumbledore disliked Slytherin no matter how the Headmaster acted. Everyone disliked Slytherin, and the much-lauded leader of the Light was no different. There was no benefit in letting Severus go since he didn't come from a powerful family that Dumbledore could attempt to twinkle his way into their good graces and play on their gratitude later, nor was Severus a Gryffindor. The sticking point though had been the fact that – not five weeks prior – the Lupin-werewolf fiasco had taken place, and Regulus would've bet the entire contents of his Gringotts vault that Dumbledore had stopped Severus from going home as a punishment.

Severus wasn't one to cry but he had cried that night, and before Regulus had been able to consciously figure out what kind of bloody Gryffindor disease he had clearly been infected with, he had ended up packing two bags before smuggling Severus out of Hogwarts and Apparating them both all over the countryside until Regulus had finally gotten it right and jumped them onto Platform 9¾. Personally, he had just counted himself lucky that he hadn't splinched either of them, though that particular jaunt all over Scotland had been what had kick-started his talent for Apparition.

After that, Severus had managed to lead them back to his house, and Eileen Prince's sallow face had glowed with happiness at seeing her son. Even her health had looked up, and in the end, she hadn't passed away until the summer of Severus' sixth year.

Of course, they had gotten into trouble. They had had to miss classes since Severus had stubbornly insisted on staying the night at home, and Regulus hadn't been able to Apparate them back before classes began the next day.

However, Regulus _had_ managed to convince Severus to lie about where they had been, that the older Slytherin had followed _Regulus_ out to drag him back because Regulus had wanted to see how repulsive Muggles were after listening to his mother talk about it all the time. Regulus had done this for two reasons: one, Severus would've gotten into far more trouble if they had told the truth since he had had no pureblood family to help reduce the consequences of their actions, and two, Walburga Black would be more pleased with Regulus for his made-up reason than displeased with him for sneaking off school grounds.

Even as a teenager, Severus had been a scarily proficient Occlumens, and Regulus was a Black, enough said, so Dumbledore hadn't even been able to pluck their motive out of their heads. He hadn't been able to disprove their explanation even though all three of them had known what the truth really was.

However, they had still gotten a month's worth of detentions and a total of a hundred points' deduction as punishment, and he had had to endure Sirius' snide taunts and Potter's jeers for being a Death Eater in training once the story had gotten out, but other than that, Regulus had counted that undertaking as an overall success.

Not to mention it had cemented his and Severus' friendship. That is, until Regulus had accepted the Dark Mark, and Sev had graduated, and Voldemort had become a reality to them anyway. Things had gone downhill from there.

Still, even with half that first trip filled with Apparition, the latter half had seen Severus dragging him across highways and hitching a ride in a cab and a number of other Muggle things that had irritated Regulus to no end if only because Severus hadn't bothered explaining properly, and Regulus hadn't _known_ how to handle everything, and he had hated not knowing.

"I know what you mean," Regulus found himself agreeing now, blinking back into the present. "It can be taxing to enter a new world surrounded by people who already knows what is 'normal' to them, and expect you to know too."

"Exactly," Harry sighed, familiar enough with Regulus' occasional lapses of attention to overlook this one without missing a beat. "Ron's like that too, and Hermione's a Muggleborn but she's read so many books that she can lecture _Ron_ about wizard customs, never mind me."

Regulus' brain instantly began tuning out the sudden turn into irrelevant territory. He liked Harry but the kid's friends were... Well, just thinking about them made Regulus shudder. The Weasley boy's table manners alone made Regulus want to stab himself with a fork, and the Granger girl just wouldn't _shut up_. The first few times he had overheard her long diatribes about how he was a bad influence on Harry had been entertaining, and he had even enjoyed the way Harry had torn his friends a new one after the third time Granger and Weasley had confronted him about it. However, after the sixth time, the tirades had gotten old, and Regulus had gotten annoyed to say the least.

'Perhaps you should consider investing in different, more useful, and less bothersome friends' was on the tip of Regulus' tongue but he managed to swallow it down at the last second. It wasn't any of Regulus' business who Harry befriended. He knew the kid still couldn't understand why – or how – Regulus had befriended Severus.

"So what brought you into the room in such a hurry anyway?" Regulus changed the subject instead.

"Oh, right," Harry seemed to have forgotten that he had had a purpose for coming into the room in the first place. He leaned forward and patted the books he had brought in with him. "I was just wondering if I could borrow some of these. You know, for when I return to Hogwarts."

Regulus tilted his head thoughtfully, running an analyzing eye over the titles before inclining his head. "You may pick out more than three to take back with you, on the conditions that you check with me first before you pack them, and that you also charm the covers and the text so that they'll only show regular schoolbooks. I believe I've already showed you the incantations."

Harry grinned at him. "Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks, Reg."

And then the kid's good humour slipped away like water, replaced by a pensive frown, and Regulus was once again reminded of how bipolar teenagers could be.

"I take it there is something else?" Regulus enquired patiently.

"Our booklists arrived," Harry revealed abruptly.

"Did they?" Regulus asked rhetorically. He hadn't been keeping quite as close an eye on what was going on in the other parts of the house since no Order meetings had been held after Harry had arrived.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, making the strands stand on end. "...Mum was a prefect, and both she and Dad were Head Girl and Boy. ...Is it bad that I don't particularly care that _I _didn't get the prefect badge?"

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "Why in the world would it be? If you don't want the extra responsibility of patrolling the corridors and threatening students with point deductions, then you don't want it. It's your opinion, not your parents', no matter what they were, and if either of them had an ounce of sense – which I can't promise for your father but at least your mother had enough for the both of them – then they wouldn't care either. They'd still be proud of you whether or not you cared about having a shiny badge. ...I take it Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley became prefects then?"

Harry shrugged. "Yup. Hermione came bursting into the kitchen, saw me holding Ron's badge, and embarrassed everyone around when she mistook me for the one who had received it. Ron was pleased to have gotten it though. Mrs. Weasley bought him a new broom."

"Hmm," Regulus hummed noncommittally, again not caring either way how Harry's friends had reacted. "And when will you go out to buy your books? What with this entire house being on lockdown and everything."

"Mrs. Weasley already got them for all of us today," Harry said, and Regulus stilled at once. "She and Hermione got into a minor argument over a Galleon because Hermione didn't want change and Mrs. Weasley didn't want charity. Uh, my words, not hers. ...Reg? Is something wrong?"

"And you gave Mrs. Weasley the money to buy those books?" Regulus' gaze remained solely focused on Harry, who looked a bit unnerved by the intensity but didn't look away.

"Um, no," Harry confessed, looking puzzled. "Bill went with her, and they stopped by the bank to withdraw some money from my vault-"

"_I beg your pardon?_" Regulus hissed, and then reeled in the rising explosive temper that all Blacks had no matter how well they hid it when Harry flinched a little at his venomous tone.

"What's the matter?" Harry looked honestly confused.

Regulus' lips thinned. "Harry, did you give your vault key to either of them?"

Harry blinked. "...No."

"Then how exactly did they get in, you foolish boy?" Regulus snapped, suppressing the twist of guilt in his gut when a flicker of hurt flitted across Harry's face. "I understand that Bill Weasley works in Gringotts but he has no authority to access another's vault simply because he has a job with them, and his mother certain doesn't either."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I... don't know, maybe Dumbledore gave them a key? He gave Hagrid my key back before my first year, and Hagrid gave it to me when he took me to Gringotts."

Regulus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "There are so many things wrong with that statement that we'll be here until dawn before we finish discussing them so I suppose I'll just focus on the most important bit for now. Harry, _why_ does Dumbledore still have _your_ key? To _your_ vault? That contains _your_ money? He is not your guardian, he is your Headmaster; the only one who should have a key to your trust vault is you."

For the first time, something like horrified understanding dawned on Harry's paling features. "I don't-"

Regulus closed his eyes again, propping his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together before resting his forehead against them. For several long seconds, his mind clicked away objectively, coming up with theories and discarding the more unlikely possibilities.

And then he opened his eyes and stood up in one fluid motion. Harry was watching him anxiously.

"Do you want to find out what is going on?" Regulus asked coolly.

Harry straightened. His eyes flashed. "Yes."

Regulus nodded, having expected nothing less. "The night is still young so we will have several hours before anyone wakes. I will take you to Gringotts to sort this out. ...You are a troublesome boy, you know that?"

Harry scratched his head and offered an uncharacteristically sardonic smile. "In a good way at least?"

Regulus just sighed before turning to summon Kreacher to go and – discreetly – retrieve Harry's cloak from his room. "Perhaps. Still, I suggest you consider yourself lucky that I like you, Harry Potter."

And despite the situation, Harry's face lit up with a grin.

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